A Matter of Chance
by Peradan
Summary: Georgiana Darcy faces life as a well born, well bred, and well dowered young lady.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've edited 'Chance' to bring it in line with my other stories; this is not (I repeat _not_) a new chapter. Yet. And this may look familiar to any readers of AHP -- yes, that's deliberate; I wanted to underscore the fact that this is _the same story_, told differently.

**A Matter of Chance**

**Part One**

_Happiness in marriage is always a matter of chance._  
— Charlotte Lucas, Pride and Prejudice

**Chapter One**

Despite the prosperity of the parish, the magnificence of the chapel, and the youthful good looks of the vicar, the church at Kympton had not been so well-attended in years.

The Darcys were chiefly responsible for this increase in piety. They were a young married couple, just returned from their wedding in Hertfordshire, and the neighbourhood took a proprietary sort of interest in them. Mr Darcy, after all, was one of their own, and his bride, a perfect stranger — what could be more intriguing? Rumours flew faster than they had in the last four weeks.—Mrs Darcy was a connection of Lord Arlington's, or a tradesman's daughter worth 100,000 _l._; she was a clever, conniving little piece, or an ignorant, illiterate girl from the country.

None of these were remotely close to the truth, but _that_ hardly signified.

Immediately upon the Darcys' arrival, every eye fell on Mr Darcy and the slender young lady at his side. Never was a congregation so alert in standing up at the proper opportunities. Mrs Trent, a martyr to rheumatism, and old Mr Willard sprang up even before the psalm was given out.

As soon as the sermon was finished, they all rushed to the churchyard, and the lady walked out, leaning on her husband's arm. Such an incident! Everybody curtseyed and bowed and caught easy glimpses of Mrs Darcy's pretty dark face. Nothing could have exceeded the gratification of the entire assembly; the gossips declared her scarcely tolerable, the romantics sighed at such a striking pair, and the Darcys themselves could scarcely contain their amusement.

This was not an unusual circumstance. By nature, they were clever, good-humoured, satirical, and when happy themselves, considered other people the world's finest entertainment.

And they _were_ happy, perfectly so — no mean achievement at the respective ages of twenty-one and twenty-eight. Yet with youth and wealth, virtue and passion, brilliance and beauty, with every thing in their favour, why should they not be happy? What signified some small neighbourly impertinences, a few family obstacles?

Alas, even they could not forever remain in a state of unending bliss. The winter was cold, the tenants suffered, and the Earl of Ancaster returned from London, his family in tow.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was Lord Ancaster's nephew and acknowledged favourite — the Earl, disappointed in his own children, loved him with a blind and therefore unreasonable affection. This particular fondness for his nephew, and the very strong family feeling shared by nearly all Fitzwilliams, far outweighed the dismay he genuinely felt. He spoke of the match with delight, sent a furious letter to his sister Catherine, forbade his other relations from breathing a word of disapprobation, and spent two days drafting a letter of what might be termed congratulations. This much accomplished, he then summoned young Miss Darcy to stay with the Fitzwilliams during the first few weeks of the marriage.

Georgiana accordingly went, mentally counting the days until she could return to the safety and comfort of her own home. A week passed, then two, and finally, on the fifth of December, they prepared to leave.

Georgiana's fingers trembled as she buttoned her pelisse.

'Good heavens, Georgy.' Lady Diana, the Earl's daughter-in-law, sprang to her feet and managed the buttons in her usual decided way. 'There.'

'Thank you,' Georgiana murmured, fixing her eyes on the floor. Her cousins had been so kind to her that she had no right to feel anything so ungrateful as irritation, not at a trivial nickname. They had let her look after the children — not that they needed any looking after, Miss Smith was perfectly capable — but she was so fond of them, and it let her away from Lady Ancaster a little.

Of course, she was fond of her aunt too, but Lady Ancaster could be sometimes a little dull, and Georgiana had never liked dogs, especially the little ones that yipped at her whenever she so much as twitched.

'Must you go so soon, dear?' Lady Ancaster asked, exerting herself so far as to open her colourless eyes. 'You are such a comfort to me.'

Georgiana felt a pang of remorse, as much for her unkind thoughts as for her eagerness to leave. 'Oh aunt, I — '

'Mother!' Richard, her favourite cousin, declared. 'She must return home.'

'But surely your brother could spare you another week? They are so newly married, after all.'

Georgiana looked up, horrified, at her uncle.

'Eleanor,' Lord Ancaster said sternly, 'there is no need to distress Georgiana at the very moment that we are preparing to leave.'

She opened her eyes very wide. 'Distress Georgiana? Why, whatever do you mean? Georgiana, darling, are you distressed? Of course you are not distressed.'

'I — '

_'Eleanor.'_ The Earl's tone brooked no disagreement.

'Oh, very well; if you insist, Georgiana is distressed. You must forgive me.' She blinked and smiled. 'Give me a kiss, darling, and then you must go. Your brother will be wanting you and if you put it off much longer he will fret, you know he always does.'

Georgiana did not try to understand the workings of her aunt's mind. She dutifully kissed her cheek and looked at the others. Oh, moments like this were so awkward. In just a moment, she would say something — another moment, if nobody else did —

'I expect you to correspond regularly,' said her grandmother, 'and not one of those crossed scrawls of yours either, they will ruin my eyes. A lady should have a fair and flowing hand.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Georgiana meekly.

Then, before she quite knew what was happening, Lord Ancaster had handed her into the carriage, and they began the short journey to Pemberley.

She did not quite know what to expect. Her new sister must be wonderful, for she had made Fitzwilliam happy; for _his_ sake, Georgiana was pleased beyond the power of words to express. Yet for herself, she could not help feeling nervous and a little afraid. Her brother, her home, her life, they would never be the same again. For so long it had only been she and Fitzwilliam; now that he had Miss Bennet, would he even want her at all? Would she be only a weight and a duty, thirty thousand pounds to be married to the best man who would have her?

No. Fitzwilliam would never think like that. But she was frightened that he would be changed. He had been so different, all this year, since Ramsgate. Of course he could not trust her any more, but more than anything she wanted things to be like they used to be. She wanted _him_ to be like he used to be. Now she knew that nothing was going to be like that again.

Resolutely, she dismissed those thoughts, and instead tried to remember Miss Bennet. She had seemed lovely, everything that Fitzwilliam said she was, handsome and clever and amiable — of course she was. Yet Georgiana had never conceived of her brother _marrying_ her, and the face had faded past recall. She recalled only a pair of dramatic black eyes, peculiarly like Fitzwilliam's.

They finally came to Pemberley, and Georgiana stepped out of the carriage, snow crunching beneath her boots. She smiled to herself as she looked at her home; she always felt more at peace here.

The servants had only just led them into the salon when Georgiana caught sight of her brother.

'Fitzwilliam!' Unable to restrain herself, she flung herself at him and beamed as he caught her hands in his.

'My dear Georgiana,' he said, and kissed her cheek. 'You remember Elizabeth, of course.'

Georgiana's fears seemed foolish and unreasonable as soon as she set eyes on her new sister, a slight, pretty woman who stood barely five feet tall. 'I — yes, I do.'

'I am so delighted that you are with us now,' Mrs Darcy said, with unaffected pleasure.

'Th-thank you,' Georgiana stammered, desperately hoping that her sister-in-law was not done growing.

She felt awkward and ungainly and tired as her brother introduced their uncle and cousins to his wife. During a moment's pause, he said,

'Are you very tired, Georgiana? You may go straight to sleep if you like, there would not be the slightest objection.'

She could think of nothing she would more prefer. 'You do not mind, truly?'

'Of course not,' Mrs Darcy said warmly.

'It has been enough of a pleasure to see you safely here,' Fitzwilliam added, and Georgiana gave a quiet sigh of relief, kissing them back. She looked back once; her brother held one of Mrs Darcy's hands on his arm, his dark head bent over hers as they talked to the Fitzwilliams.

They looked striking, handsome, and happy together; Georgiana smiled to herself and hummed a little as her maid helped her undress.

''Tis very nice to have you back home, Miss Darcy,' Kate blurted out, then flushed at her own impudence. Georgiana stilled, startled but by no means displeased.

'It is very nice to be home,' she said

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_Last chapter: A painfully shy, insecure Georgiana returns home, confused as to her real opinion of her brother's wife, fearful of the changes his marriage will bring to their family, but glad to be away from her severe Fitzwilliam relations._

**Chapter Two**

Georgiana could hear her brother's and sister-in-law's voices as she stepped downstairs. She paused in the hall.

'I cannot reconcile it,' Fitzwilliam was saying.

'There is nothing to reconcile. You believed you were doing right; and when you ceased to believe yourself right, you ceased doing it. It is quite humbling, I assure you. I shall become a languid insipid wife who breathlessly and adoringly hangs on your every word if you are not careful to check your goodness.'

Georgiana took a deep breath and walked into the room, hesitating. A dependent sister was quite different from mistress of the household, no matter how ineptly she had fulfilled her duties; she did not know where to sit.

'Good morning, dear.'

'Please, sit down,' Mrs Darcy said graciously, gesturing at the place to Fitzwilliam's left. She herself was not in the mistress' seat at the foot, but at Fitzwilliam's right hand. 'Have you had the opportunity to practise on the beautiful pianoforte I saw last summer?'

Georgiana instantly brightened. 'Oh yes. I have never heard a finer one, it sounds so beautiful.'

'Nothing is too good for you,' said Fitzwilliam. 'Could you pass the marmalade?'

'Your brother,' said Mrs Darcy, 'is determined to spoil everyone in his life, I think.'

Georgiana shot a quick, nervous look at her brother, but he did not look remotely discomposed. 'I seem to have failed then,' he said in a tone that could only be called amiable, and Georgiana blushed.

'I — I understand you play, Mrs Darcy? I hope you will allow us the pleasure of hearing you,' she said.

'Whether it is a pleasure I will leave to you to decide,' her sister-in-law said merrily. 'But you must use my Christian name, or I shall feel old and infirm.'

'Oh! I am dreadfully sorry,' Georgiana cried, blushing furiously. 'Please forgive me.'

Mrs Darcy laughed. 'I was only teasing you a little, Georgiana. You may call me whatever you wish, though I would prefer "Elizabeth." '

'Then "Elizabeth" it shall be,' Georgiana said, in as decided a tone as she dared.

'I hope you left your grandmother in good health?'

'Yes, she always enjoys excellent heal— oh! I forgot, there is a letter for you, Fitzwilliam.'

He smiled at her, then told Mrs Darcy, 'You will discover soon enough, my dear, that you have for family two of the most absent minded people in the world; is it not so, Georgiana?'

'Yes,' she said ruefully, 'I am terribly forgetful, I have to have everything organised just so or I can never find anything.'

Mrs Darcy chuckled. 'Now I know why are you so particular, dearest. Georgiana, your brother is constantly tidying up after me. Well, since there is a good reason, I shall permit you to continue.'

Georgiana's good breeding was just sufficient to keep her from staring. When had anybody ever permitted Fitzwilliam to do anything? Even Father—

Mrs Darcy was everything lovely and amiable, Georgiana decided, but a very strange creature by way of a wife.

'Grandmama told me that the letter is about Milton,' she said awkwardly. Fitzwilliam's expression instantly closed. As a child she had disliked that look; now she knew better than to think he was necessarily displeased with her. In fact, she knew exactly whom he was really displeased with.

Georgiana remembered the whispered tales at school, and how Miss Grantley's brothers went off drinking and gambling and visiting Ladies of the Night, and above all poor Laura, and couldn't help agreeing with him.

'Forgive us for not calling sooner,' Lady Cardwell said briskly. 'Lord Cardwell was indisposed.'

Georgiana glanced at the unprepossessing baron. She rather thought that his indisposition had not entirely passed.

'Of course,' Mrs Darcy replied, with the half-smile that Georgiana had seen a great deal of in the last few days, though only in company, when she was forced to restrain her native good humour. 'I hope your health is improved, sir.'

Lord Cardwell grunted. 'Tolerably.'

She looked at Fitzwilliam, her eyes dancing, and her smile widened a little before she returned her attention to the Cardwells. Much to Georgiana's relief, his usual sedateness gave way to a look of pleased bewilderment.

'Ah — is Mr Cardwell in town for the winter?' Fitzwilliam asked.

'He was expected last week,' Lady Cardwell replied. 'Now he says he should be here by Christmas. He is in Scotland; apparently the weather is something terrible there. I am quite vexed, I assure you.'

Georgiana looked wistfully out the window. Her brother had said it would be a cold winter, and of course, he was right. The flakes were falling more heavily than she remembered ever before — for many years, she had only been at Pemberley during the summer, but even as a young girl, when she would sometimes sneak out with Fitzwilliam to play in the snow, it had never been like this. The Cardwells were among their closest neighbours, but she could scarcely believe even they had dared the journey. How much colder would it be so far to the north?

'— with Miss Darcy.'

Georgiana started, glancing fearfully from one to another. She was a little easier with the Cardwells, whom she had known all her life, but even with them she hated hearing her name, the prospect of the smallest attention.

'I had not thought to attend,' Fitzwilliam began. 'The weather is so inclement — '

'Nonsense. The worst shall be past by then, I am sure of it — the ball would have been postponed otherwise, I am certain.'

'Oh, I do hope we shall be able to go,' Elizabeth said, her eyes alight. 'My uncle and aunt are expected by then — on Wednesday fortnight — so it would be very pleasant for all of us.'

'If we do,' Fitzwilliam said, 'Mr Cardwell, of course, may ask for Miss Darcy's hand, as may any gentleman in attendance.'

Georgiana swallowed.

'I hope you will do my son the honour, Miss Darcy,' said Lady Cardwell, 'he is very much looking forward to seeing you again.'

Georgiana dropped her eyes, her fingers plucking at her skirt. 'I, er, I hope to, to, I hope his journey is pleasant and safe.' She looked anxiously at her brother, who moved to the back of her chair and set his hand on her shoulder. It was only a light weight, but she knew how strong he was and she felt reassured. Fitzwilliam would not let anyone take advantage of her. He had rescued her from That Man, after all. No matter how idle and vain and ignorant _she_ was, he would always take care of her.

And Mrs Darcy . . . she was so brilliant and witty and sparkling that she could not be much interested in a tediously dull sister-in-law, but for Fitzwilliam's sake she would do her best to look after her. Georgiana smiled, much relieved.

'Mrs Darcy,' declared Lady Cardwell, 'the announcement of your marriage took me quite by surprise. We had not a word of it. Where are your people from?'

Georgiana would have fled, or burst into tears, under such scrutiny; Mrs Darcy said without hesitation, 'Hertfordshire, ma'am.'

'And your home, what is it called?'

Was that a twitch in her jaw? 'Longbourn.'

'Never heard of it,' muttered Lord Cardwell.

'I would be very surprised if you had.'

Lady Cardwell's chins wobbled as she almost gaped at Mrs Darcy. 'Bennet, Bennet. I am certain I know the name. Ah! The Earls of Arlington, of course -- '

'I regret to inform your ladyship that there is no connection whatsoever.'

'No connection? Then who are you?'

Even Georgiana could see the mischief gleaming in her sister's dark eyes. 'I assure you that I am entirely without grand connections, and before my marriage, I was in all respects a person of very little significance in the world.'

'How singular,' pronounced Lady Cardwell, with a doubtful look at Mrs Darcy. Then her eyes widened in horror. 'Your father is a gentleman, at the very least?'

'Yes.'

She heaved an expansive sigh of relief. 'That is something. Well— ' she raised her lorgnette — 'you seem a pleasant, prettyish sort of girl. I daresay you, sir, are no more of a fool than you have ever been.'

Mrs Darcy said graciously, 'Thank you, ma'am.' Fitzwilliam's hand, which had tightened painfully on Georgiana's shoulder, relaxed a little.

'I am very pleased you think so,' he said.

Georgiana was deeply relieved when they were gone. Mrs Darcy instantly began laughing. 'Oh! I was sure I could not keep my countenance. Has she always been so impertinent?'

Georgiana nodded fervently.

'Yes, without a doubt.' Fitzwilliam stepped away from Georgiana's side and she smiled affectionately at him. He might be in love, and some people said he was a fool for love, but that was nonsense; he could not be foolish if his life depended on it, and he was as kind and careful a guardian as he had ever been. 'My mother could scarcely tolerate her, and only just managed it. She is too influential to simply disregard as one might others of her type — and still worse, a connection of ours.'

'Oh? Perhaps she is not quite so bad as I thought.' Mrs Darcy's eyes crinkled up. 'And I was so certain I had finally sorted out your family.'

'Impossible,' said Fitzwilliam, actually laughing. That was twice in less than a week! 'I have not yet managed it myself. I really think that everybody here is interrelated somehow.'

'You do not know?' She looked startled.

'Lady Cardwell is Laura's mother,' Georgiana blurted out, then flushed and looked at her hands.

'Laura?'

'Laura was married to my cousin James, who you met yesterday. The clergyman.'

'Oh! Little Sophy's father.'

Georgiana felt a wave of misery wash over her, though she loved Sophia as dearly as any of the children. Fitzwilliam looked even more forbidding than usual.

After one quick glance at both, Mrs Darcy smoothly changed the subject.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

_Last chapter: Georgiana overhears part of a conversation between her brother and Elizabeth, and they endure a visit from the Cardwells, neighbours who are also the parents of James Fitzwilliam's (late) wife. Georgiana remembers to give Darcy the letter from their grandmother, about Milton -- he is less than pleased, and, quietly, Georgiana shares his disapproval._

**Chapter Three**

Of course, thinking about Laura brought Wickham to her mind, and for several days, she could not stop brooding over all the silly, wrong-headed, abhorrently adolescent things she had thought and said and done. She was sure she would never pick up another novel as long as she lived; she would never have been so fooled if she had not lived on a steady diet of novels all those horrible years at school.

Several days later, she happened upon Mrs Darcy, shortly after Fitzwilliam had disappeared on some matter of business. Georgiana was terrified that her sister-in-law would ask about Laura; instead, she appeared to have forgotten the subject altogether.

'Come, Georgiana,' she said, with a merry smile. 'We are sisters and we have hardly spoken five words together.'

Timidly, Georgiana accepted her arm, and they walked. She could not think of anything to say, but fortunately the silence was soon broken.

'My uncle and aunt could never settle on an age for the house, but of course, you would know.'

It was the easiest subject in the world to speak on. Georgiana forgot her shyness in the flush of pride. 'Oh, it is all rather complicated. Pemberley was originally a fortified manor. Family legend goes that our ancestor, Sir Alain d'Arcy, was a brave knight who fought at the Battle of Hastings and saved the Conqueror's life. He was given most of the property and the manor, though it was in shambles by then — there is something about a fire — and it wasn't properly finished until the 1100s, by his great-great-grandson, I think. Of course, that is only part of Pemberley today, though I know the chapel dates from then. The banqueting hall was added in the fourteenth century, if I remember correctly. The Long Gallery, where all the portraits are, is Elizabethan, and — oh.' She remembered herself. 'I hope I am not boring you. I can get very dull when I talk about family history.'

'My dear Georgiana, Pemberley is my home now; your family is mine. Nothing could interest me more — except your brother, and on that subject _I_ can get unbearably tedious, so let us return to Pemberley. The chapel is really that old?'

'Ye-es, though I think the extra wing was added later.' Georgiana gathered her courage. 'We do not use it any more, it is so small and old, but I could show you, if you would like. Nobody has been there for years but I know where it is.'

Mrs Darcy's face lit up. 'I should love to see it. Is it really over six hundred years old?' She looked like a child with a new toy, and Georgiana could scarcely keep herself from smiling.

'I will take you there, and you can see for yourself.'

The ancient chapel was cluttered with paintings, furniture, and even statues. Nearly everything was covered in a layer of dust. Mrs Darcy sneezed.

'You were quite right that nobody has been here,' she said, with a rueful smile. 'What a beautiful glass.' She carefully wound her way through the room to look at it more closely. 'Oh, look at these books!'

'Books?' Georgiana glanced at them. 'Why, Fitzwilliam must not know these are here. He is so scrupulous about his library.'

'_Nobody_ excludes even Fitzwilliam; he has not been here any more than anyone else has,' said Mrs Darcy with a smile. 'Why are these portraits not in the gallery?'

'They are probably not very good,' Georgiana said. 'Or perhaps they are safer here, if they are very old. I think there is a tapestry — there it is, do you see it?'

Mrs Darcy glanced up at it, looking disappointed. 'It is rather dull, is it not?'

'Yes,' Georgiana said excitedly, 'it is supposed to be hundreds and hundreds of years old. I daren't even touch it.'

'I almost wonder how you live with all of this,' her sister-in-law said. Georgiana blinked. 'The weight of — of knowing all that has gone before, of being responsible for it.'

'Well, that is mostly Fitzwilliam. But it is — well, I always think it is rather wonderful.' She bit her lip. She liked Elizabeth, she really did, but she was practically a stranger and it was impossible to be entirely at ease.

'Oh, there is that too. May I look at the paintings?'

Georgiana blinked. Was Mrs Darcy — the mistress of Pemberley — asking _her_ permission? 'They are as much yours as mine,' she said awkwardly.

She stood a little aside, then tilted her head as she heard a peculiar noise. Leaving her sister-in-law to her raptures, she followed the soft mewing, until she ended up near one of the pews.

'Oh!' It was a cat, or rather a kitten, black and scrawny, almost emaciated. Georgiana promptly forgot all else and knelt on the dusty floor, gently picking it up in her hands. It tried to defend itself, but only managed a limp bite. Georgiana, scarcely knowing what to do, patted its head until it calmed. 'Elizabeth!'

There was no reply. Mrs Darcy was standing motionless in front of one of the portraits, her look very un-Elizabeth-like, even given Georgiana's short acquaintance with her.

'Elizabeth, is something wrong?'

Georgiana herself froze in place when her eyes went to the portrait. It was not poorly executed, and it was not old.

'Why, that is my mother!' she cried.

Indeed it was — a Lady Anne older and wearier than in any image Georgiana had ever seen of her, startlingly like Lady Catherine, but nevertheless her mother. A slender, dark-haired boy stood behind her, and though she had never seen any representation of her brother as a young child, and of course could not remember him as such, she knew it must be him.

'I thought all the other paintings had been destroyed, except Lord Ancaster's,' Georgiana stammered. 'Fitzwilliam said — '

'He must not know — nor your mother's family.' Elizabeth turned, her eyes resting on the pitiful creature in Georgiana's hand. 'Why — did you find that here?'

'Yes, under one of the pews. He looks so hungry — do you think there is anything we can do for him? I'm sure it is not proper but I do not think Fitzwilliam will be angry — '

'Oh!' Mrs Darcy laughed, 'he shan't be, I assure you.'

Georgiana was trembling as she, Mrs Darcy, and the kitten waited outside the study. There had always been a clear division in her mind between Fitzwilliam, the protective elder brother she loved and trusted, and the stern, forbidding Master of Pemberley, whom she held in such awe as to almost overcome her affection. She had rarely dared intrude upon him here, not when he was occupied with important estate business, though he was never cross on the few times that she had interrupted him. But he was hardly cross at all so that did not signify.

She held the kitten protectively; it whimpered a little. She had long strong hands, but even so it was terribly distressing to see him fit in her palm.

'Come in,' said Fitzwilliam. Georgiana's head snapped up and she kept her fingers curled steadily around the cat as they entered the room, her brother glancing up at them. 'Excuse me, Higgins.' Fitzwilliam rose to join the two women. 'Is something wrong?'

Georgiana bit her lip. Mrs Darcy said, without the slightest trace of anxiety,

'In a manner of speaking. There is this little difficulty we require your advice on.'

Fitzwilliam's eyes dropped to Georgiana's hand. Astonishingly, he smiled for a moment, catching his wife's eye briefly. 'I see. You found this pathetic creature, Georgiana?'

'Yes, sir.' She gathered her courage. 'We were in the chapel because Elizabeth wanted to see it and when she was looking at the portrait I heard it and went over and it was under the pew all alone.' She blushed, feeling like a very small, heedless child.

'I see. Well, what do you intend to do?'

'I — I beg your pardon, sir?' She stared at him a moment. 'I — I do not know. I had to take him out of the chapel. He might have died.'

'And he — it — might very well still do so,' he said coolly. 'Carrying it about will not provide the poor thing any nourishment.'

Mrs Darcy frowned at him. He kept his eyes on his sister. 'It must eat, then,' Georgiana said, and bravely added, 'what must I do, brother?'

'We had better go to the kitchens. Higgins, I should return in an half-hour.' He opened the door. 'Ladies?'

Georgiana offered him a shy smile, Mrs Darcy an arch look, and they proceeded out.

* * *

'Buttermilk,' Fitzwilliam said decidedly.

'Sir?' The housekeeper stared at him.

'We need buttermilk and some rags.'

She blinked. 'Yes, sir . . . '

'And have the house searched for kittens.'

She hesitated only a moment. 'Yes, sir,' she said again, and bustled off.

Mrs Darcy was smiling, her look both fond and amused. Georgiana gazed at her brother. 'What are you going to do?'

'The question should be what _you_ are going to do, Georgiana,' he told her. 'I did not find this creature; you have taken on its care, you are responsible for it.'

His tone was very stern, but when she dared to meet his eyes, she saw that they were a little crinkled at the corners. 'You do not mind?' she asked.

His mouth twitched. 'Of course not.' More gravely, he added, 'I will never disapprove of an act of kindness, my dear, provided that you consider the ramifications and carry it through to the end. Never leave such an endeavour half-done, however; it is better to do nothing at all than to raise hopes and then dash them, particularly when the recipient of such _kindness_ has no other dependence than on your good will.'

'Yes, sir.' She looked at the kitten soberly, then up at her brother. 'What am I going to do, then?'

'It is too young to eat proper food, even if it had not been half starved. It needs a mother's milk.'

'Oh! Now I understand.' She chewed her lip. 'How do I . . . oh, Mrs Reynolds.'

The housekeeper seemed rather less bewildered than before. 'I'm afraid the mother and others are dead, sir,' she said, looking fixedly at the small black kitten. 'You! John. Put that right here,— right there, in front of Miss Darcy.'

'Thank you, Reynolds,' Fitzwilliam said firmly. 'That will be all.'

'Yes, sir.'

Before she quite knew what had happened, Georgiana was dipping the rag into the milk, and trying to squeeze it into the kitten's mouth. Most dribbled out. Fitzwilliam held the kitten in his hand, as her own was trembling so violently that it did no good at all.

'Like so — do you see now?' he asked.

'Yes, I think.' Carefully, she rubbed the throat as he had done. 'He swallowed! Did you see that? Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth, did you see?'

They smiled. Georgiana glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth, who stood a little away, watching them with the softest expression she had ever seen on her sister-in-law's face animated face. 'Do you wish to — ' she said awkwardly.

'Oh no,' Mrs Darcy said with a laugh. 'I have no hand with animals; besides, you two make such a charming picture, I would rather admire than intrude.'

Georgiana blushed fiercely, her brother only a little less so. 'It would be no intrusion,' she whispered, before returning to the kitten. After a few minutes of silence, Fitzwilliam's hand and both of hers sticky with spilt milk, he said,

'That should be enough. H — It cannot take very much at present.'

The small black creature, looking distinctly less unhappy, settled in Georgiana's hand with a soft contented purr. She smiled, enchanted. 'Where shall we put him?'

Fitzwilliam sent for a basket and more rags. 'That should be sufficient at present.'

'But if he is not with me, I might not hear him when he gets hungry!'

'You would not hear it anyway,' he said practically. 'You sleep like the dead, Georgiana.'

This was true enough. She sighed and nodded.

'You will take care of him?' she asked Mrs Reynolds anxiously.

'Of course, miss. Don't you fret.'


	4. Chapter 4

_Last chapter: Georgiana takes Elizabeth to the ancient chapel, where they discover a painting of Georgiana's mother and brother, forgotten in the wake of the second discovery -- a starving cat. Darcy teaches Georgiana how to take care of it._

**Chapter Four**

Georgiana could only stand very still amidst the flurry of embraces, laughter, smiles, and chatter as her brother and sister acknowledged the Gardiners with all the enthusiasm their respective dispositions allowed. Even her shyness and reserve, however, could not stand against the unaffected warmth of Mrs Darcy's family. Mr Gardiner was a merry, charming man, perhaps her cousin Milton's age, or a little older; despite his youth and dark curls he reminded her of her father. Mrs Gardiner was just as agreeable, but less gregarious; quiet and sensible, something almost commanding underlaid her sweetness of manner.

She also looked very fashionable; although slender, she was tall, with heavy dark hair worn in a beautiful arrangement Georgiana had never seen amongst the assorted turbans and feathers of her usual acquaintance. She surreptitiously eyed the older woman; her own hair was almost exactly like Mrs Gardiner's, and if she told Kate —

'Good afternoon, Miss Darcy!' a small Gardiner said cheerfully. Georgiana, determined to be as amiable as she was capable of, knelt so as not to dwarf the girl.

'Good afternoon, Miss Amelia,' she replied.

'Is it always so pretty here?' Amelia stood on tiptoe. 'I have _never_ seen _anything_ like it in my _entire_ life.'

'Nor I,' Georgiana confessed with a smile, 'but it is always beautiful here.'

'My mama has been talking and talking about how wonderful it is here, especially in the winter. I have never seen so much snow anywhere. Does it always snow this much here? It took us hours and hours more to come here because of it. I do not know how anybody gets around.'

She laughed. 'There is almost never this much; and it is only for a few weeks out of the year.'

'Well, Mama wanted to take the feetun, but I think it is too cold to go outside. Papa is worried about her con-dish-en. That means I am going to have a new brother or sister.'

'I see.'

'Are you going to have a new brother or sister?'

'No. My parents are dead.'

Amelia clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes turning enormous. 'Oh, I'm sorry! I would rather anything than not have my mama and papa.'

When her father died, Georgiana wept tears of relief. It had been two and a half long years of excruciating illness for George Darcy. She had loved him dearly, certain that she felt all of his pain as her own. Yet, to this day, there were sudden sharp moments when she would give anything to hear his booming laughter or see his green eyes dance at some secret jest between the two of them, to once more enjoy their easy camaraderie.

Six years. Georgiana's eyes stung. Then she deliberately turned to Amelia with a warm smile. 'Do not fret, Miss Amelia; they died a long time ago.'

'Is that why your brother brought you up? I heard my mama say that he did, and I wondered why your papa didn't.'

She had not thought of her childhood in a long time; not since Ramsgate, when she felt as if the gay innocence of that time had been stripped away, and every happy memory was tainted by _him_. She remembered playing with her father, Mr Darcy swinging her up on his broad shoulders as she screamed with laughter. She remembered running to her father with frogs and bows, beaming as he pronounced every accomplishment the most splendid thing he had ever seen. She also remembered that when she tumbled down the stairs, when she awoke from her childish nightmares, when she fell off her pony, she sought her brother. Her father would laugh her out of her fears, her brother would rescue her from them. Between the two of them, all was right with her world.

'Miss Darcy?'

'Oh! I beg your pardon,' she said, looking down at the girl.

'You were lost,' said Amelia knowledgeably. 'That's what my papa says my mama does when she is thinking.'

'Yes, I am afraid so.'

'Are you going to be married? I love people getting married. It is great fun and I get to be pretty, and Meg too, and there is lots and lots of food. My aunt Bennet is very strange but it's always nice to eat at Longbourn.'

'No, I am afraid not — not yet, at any rate. I am far too young for that,' Georgiana said.

'How old are you?'

'Sixteen.'

'That is ten years older than me.' Amelia chewed her lip. 'But my cousin Lydia was married this year and she was just sixteen in June. Were you sixteen in June?'

Georgiana caught her breath. Lydia Wickham, a person she had never set eyes on, was a constant reminder of her own folly, and of how close she had come to such a dreadful fate. 'Ye-yes,' she stammered. 'Yes, I was, on the fourteenth.'

'My birthday is in June too!' She clapped her hands. 'And that is not so far away. How many months? One—two—three—'

'Six,' Georgiana said with a smile.

'I shall be seven. So I will only be a year younger than Meg for a little while. Meggggg!'

'Amelia!' The elder Miss Gardiner looked shocked. 'This is _Pemberley_. You can't shout here.'

'Miss Darcy's birthday is in June too. Isn't that nice?'

Meg blinked. 'My mama says you are the same age as Cousin Lydia,' she remarked, 'but you look older. You look as old as Cousin Lizzy, and she is one-and-twenty.'

It was impossible not to be pleased, even if she felt her want of experience and maturity at every turn. 'Thank you.'

'Georgiana!' Mrs Darcy, her face still alight with laughter, firmly took her by the arm. 'Meg, Amelia, you may not have her all to yourselves. Aunt — uncle Gardiner — you will remember my sister Miss Darcy from the wedding, of course.'

'My dear Miss Darcy.' Mrs Gardiner kissed her cheek, Mr Gardiner shook her hand warmly. She scarcely knew what to do or say, murmuring a soft greeting.

'I hope we are no imposition on your family party; you cannot have been home very long, Miss Darcy?' Mrs Gardiner enquired.

'I have been here twelve days, and it is not an imposition, ma'am, not with family.' She felt a tugging at her skirts and looked down, surprised.

'Up,' said John, the youngest of the family, though it was clear from Mrs Gardiner's appearance that he would not carry that distinction for long. He held up his arms.

She hesitated a moment before lifting him up. 'Miz Dazzly,' he pronounced.

This young child, perhaps three or four years old, already recognised _her_. She laughed shakily as he tugged at one of the curls around her face. Then, utterly without warning, he lay his head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

'It has been a very long journey,' Mrs Gardiner said apologetically. 'It is only nerves keeping them going now.'

'Oh, it must have been quite arduous. I hope you did not encounter too many difficulties,' Georgiana said, tentatively brushing some of the boy's hair out of his eyes. 'Winters here can be — oh, but you would know. You are one of us.'

Mrs Gardiner smiled one of the loveliest smiles she had ever seen, gracefully seating herself at Mrs Darcy's invitation. Georgiana joined her. 'Yes, I have missed them. Winter in the south is very — _piano_, though I would rather have my husband and children with me anywhere, than an hundred wild Derbyshire Christmases.'

Georgiana looked at them, Amelia chattering at Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth laughing gaily with Neddy, while Meg contentedly rested against her father.

'If I had a family like yours, I should never want to be separated from them, not _ever_.' She heard her own voice, as if through a fine silver mist, and coloured. 'I beg your pardon — I did not mean — '

Mrs Gardiner patted her hand. 'I shall tell you something, my dear, and I hope you do not think me terribly impertinent.' She paused, and Georgiana's brow furrowed.

'Of course not, Mrs Gardiner.'

'When we became acquainted with your brother in town, I thought the way he spoke of you was quite the most charming thing I had ever heard from such a man.'

She sat up straight. 'Fitzwilliam talked of me — to you?'

Mrs Gardiner's lips twitched. 'I suspect he talks of you to his entire acquaintance. He is as proud of you as any father, as any _brother_, could be.'

'Proud of me?' she echoed, feeling stupid and dull, but scarcely able to credit it. Fondness was one thing; she had always depended on his affectionate concern. Pride, though — that was something altogether different. She had never, never imagined such a thing; never imagined how he could not feel her a burden and a duty, when he had given up his youth to be a proper guardian to her. And after what she had done at Ramsgate! what a trial she must be — she was certain of it. 'He said he was proud of me?'

'Among many other things, yes.' Mrs Gardiner smiled at her astounded expression. 'You need not doubt your brother's good opinion, Miss Darcy. You, too, are fortunate in your family; I might envy you yours, were I less happy in my life. I have no brothers or sisters, you see, and my parents died when I was too small to remember them; I always wanted a brother.'

Georgiana's head spun; she briefly rested her flaming cheek against John Gardiner's dark head. 'My brother is the dearest person in the world to me. Thank you, ma'am; you cannot comprehend what it means to know that perhaps he thinks well of me sometimes.'

* * *

'Squeeze gently, Margaret,' said Georgiana. 

She watched, smiling gently as the girl bent her dark head with a frown of concentration, painstakingly wringing a few drops of buttermilk into the kitten's throat. Today he swallowed of his own accord, purring when she permitted Amelia and Neddy to pet his untidy black fur, curling up into a contented ball on her palm. It was easy to be calm and steady with the children.

'Did I do it well?' Meg asked, glancing up at Georgiana.

'Yes, perfectly; he is only very tired. I am sure he would stay awake if he could, he is a vain creature and enjoys the attention.'

'What is his name?'

'Cat,' Georgiana said with a laugh, 'until I think up something fitting for him. Now we need to wash our hands — it would not do to have sticky fingers on Christmas Eve.'

Amelia clapped her hands. 'I can't wait to see Mama's face,' she confided. 'We got her a book. A very old book. Mama loves books. Papa bought it but we gave him our allowances, we all did, so really we got it for her. Papa says that Mama would fill the house with books if he let her, and she says he would fill the house with beggars.'

'He would too,' Meg added.

After they washed their hands, Amelia said, 'What are we to do now, Miss Darcy? Mama says we must mind you and behave very, very well. And Papa said that we might have some nice presents this evening if we are very good.' She smiled angelically.

Georgiana was briefly at a loss. It was still early, not yet noon, and all she could remember of her childish preferences was that she had disliked being laughed at.

'I want to see the pictures,' Meg said. 'I like pretty things and Mama said Mr Darcy has some of the finest pictures she's ever seen.'

Neddy wrinkled his nose. 'Silly pictures, I want to play in the snow.' He threw a longing look out at the white courtyards.

'They're pictures, not those ugly people without eyes?'

Georgiana stifled a smile. 'They are almost all paintings,' she assured Amelia gravely. 'Edward, your mother said it is too cold to go outside for very long.'

He stuck his lower lip out. She was enough acquainted with children to recognise the danger.

'So — ' she consulted her watch — 'we will go to the gallery, and then go outside for a quarter-hour.'

He brightened. 'That's — ten — no — '

'Fifteen minutes.'

The children, even Neddy, were constantly twisting around to look at something new. Georgiana, who had always loved her home above any other place in the world, was enchanted anew as she discovered all the familiar, beloved sights through new eyes. The treasures, great and small, accumulated over the centuries, were all things of wonder to _her_ as well as Meg, who stood on her tiptoes to see everything.

Georgiana had been certain they would be bored within minutes, but they were shockingly well behaved children, and seemed largely content for a very agreeable half-hour, though she kept a sharp eye on Neddy. Meg particularly seemed fascinated.

'Oh!' she cried, blinking from painting to painting. 'Oh, Miss Darcy, tell me about him.'

The others chimed in, 'What is that ugly thing around his neck?'

'Why aren't there any boys there?'

'Oh, that is Sir John Darcy and his family. He tried to put Mary, Queen of Scots on the throne and was locked away for the rest of his life. And, Master Edward, the two at the bottom, with the dog, are boys.'

'They don't look like boys.' He examined it. 'Why wasn't his head chopped off?' he demanded, disappointed.

Georgiana coloured. She could explain that he had been a favourite of the queen's, though even that would not have spared him had he not had such a minor role in the conspiracy.

'Nobody knows for sure,' she said.

'That's a pretty dress,' Amelia said, pointing to another. 'Who is that?'

'My great-aunt, Lady Alston.'

'Did she always have that thing on her dress? I would trip over it all the time.'

'I never knew her, I daresay she managed it well enough.'

'I thought your great-aunt was Lady Darcy,' Meg piped up. 'I heard Papa say so.'

Georgiana smiled. 'This is another great-aunt. Lady Darcy is much younger than Lady Alston was.'

'Is she here?'

Georgiana pointed to a painting a few places to the right.

'I thought Lady Darcy was old,' Amelia said doubtfully.

'This was quite a long time ago, you understand.' Georgiana was seized by a mischievous impulse for the first time in, quite literally, years. 'People change — why, look at that little girl.'

They obediently stared.

'She looks normal' was Neddy's judgment.

'I think she looks nice.'

'She was drawing, see.' Meg pointed, mildly interested.

'Her hair's the same colour as mine,' Amelia said triumphantly. 'Is it Mama?'

'Mama would not have a picture here, silly.'

'Why not? She lived here!'

'She lived in the village. She was just the doctor's niece.'

'There's nothing wrong with that!'

Meg gave a long-suffering sigh. 'I didn't say there was.'

Georgiana cleared her throat. The sisters instantly silenced.

'Who is she, Miss Darcy?' Meg asked more quietly. 'It can't have been very long ago, there aren't all those veils and things.'

'I was that girl.'

'No!' Amelia's mouth dropped open. 'How old were you?'

'Eight.'

'My age!' Meg crowed. 'You don't look the same at all, Miss Darcy.'

Georgiana had not wished to see this for a long time. It had been taken just after her father first fell ill, when everyone thought he would die. She had nothing to do, was constantly underfoot, and until her brother and — until her brother was sent for, she had been terribly unhappy. She remembered drawing and drawing, unable to take any pleasure from music. The painter had been a slim reedy man whom she disliked, because he made her sit still when she felt almost wild.

Yet that was past, eight years past — 'I am not the same,' she said, then shook herself out of it. 'Wilcox!' she said to one of the upper maids. 'We need warm clothes for the children, and mine also.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

The maid bustled off, and Georgiana deliberately turned away from herself.

'You should get another,' Amelia told her. 'So people know what you really look like.'

'Perhaps, perhaps someday I shall, after Elizabeth does.'

'Lizzy is going to be here!' she crowed.

'Is she going to be as gloomy as all the rest?'

Georgiana thought of her merry sister-in-law. 'I do not think she could be gloomy if her life depended on it.'

'Oh look, it's Mr Darcy!' Amelia ran over heedlessly, tripping over the carpet. 'He doesn't seem so different.'

'My brother,' said Georgiana, 'is always the same.'

'He's not so serious here. He's almost smiling, a little. How old was he?'

'Twenty. That was almost eight years ago, the same as mine. My father wanted to have us painted, before — before he could not be with us anymore.'

'He is very handsome,' Meg said shyly. 'Is he really so much older than you, Miss Darcy?'

'Twelve years. Oh, there you are.' She instantly relieved the puffing maid of her burdens. 'Edward, this must be yours — and Amelia — ' she shrugged into her own — 'Margaret.'

'Can we go now?' Neddy demanded, suddenly impatient. 'I'm ready, Miss Darcy, see — '

'Your buttons are crooked.' Georgiana knelt down and fixed them, properly wrapped scarves around each head, and led them out to the courtyard.

The nice, well-behaved children instantly turned into screaming laughing hellions who pelted each other and Georgiana with snow. At first rather disgruntled, she transformed the blinding chaos into a properly organised game, aiding Meg against her siblings.

'Very well, it's been twenty minutes,' she said presently.

'But Miss Darcy!' Neddy protested. 'We're almost winning!'

'I was not asking your permission,' she said, sounding for all the world like her aunt Lady Catherine. She laughed at the thought, while the children looked on in bewilderment. 'Very well, come in, and stamp your feet at the door, get as much of the snow off as you can.'


	5. Chapter 5

_Last chapter: Georgiana gets to know the Gardiners, discovers that Darcy has boasted of her to Mrs Gardiner, and commandeers the Gardiner children. They spend a little while looking at the family portraits, then go out and play in the snow._

**Chapter Five**

'Do not gobble it up in one night,' said Mrs Gardiner, with a reproachful look at her son. Georgiana smiled contentedly. All was illuminated by firelight, the holly and the ivy decorating the portraits, the drawings she had given Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Darcy, the faces alight with laughter or pleasure.

'Say thank you to Miss Darcy,' Mr Gardiner added.

The children chorused, 'Thank you, Miss Darcy!' Neddy nibbled at his sweetmeat.

'Not any more until morning, Neddy,' his mother said. Georgiana bit her lip and looked down. Her sister-in-law had given her folders of music she longed to play; a new Beethoven sonata she had never seen or heard before, and it would be the first music she would play for the first time on her pianoforte.

In her lap lay the greatest gift of the evening, which she did not dare wear but could not stop herself from reverently touching. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing she owned — a priceless heirloom collar, fitted with dozens of garnets. It felt cold against the tips of her fingers, and every time the reddish pink flash caught her gaze, she could not help but stare at the jewels, and then look up at her brother with tears in her eyes. 

'Should it not go to Elizabeth, brother?' Georgiana had whispered.

'I want you to have it,' he said, and hardly able to countenance her own daring, she had taken it out of his hand, fascinated by the sensation of the stones slipping through her fingers. 'It was Grandmother's — Lady Alexandra's — not Mother's. I thought it would suit you better than the other jewels.'

Georgiana looked at what now seemed hundreds of sparkling stones, then at her brother. He thought it _suited_ her — that she was worthy of her grandmother's prettiest jewels. There were others more grand, but she did not like those, she would look ridiculous in them.

Trying not to cry, she said, 'It is so beautiful, Fitzwilliam . . . I shall feel so pretty in it. I do not have anything like it.'

Something about his face softened, and she could see that he had been — anxious? Had he thought she might not like it?

Men were very strange creatures. She was suddenly, unreasonably, so happy she could scarcely think. She flung her arms about his neck, as she had when she was a little girl, and kissed his cheek.

Still in a state of high euphoria, the party separated late that night, long after the children had been sent off to bed. Even the prospect of the ball could not affect her mood. She clutched the garnets in one hand and her music in the other, humming a little to herself.

'Georgiana? May I walk with you?'

She smiled tentatively. 'Of course, Fitzwilliam.'

For a few moments, brother and sister were silent. 'I — we have not had much opportunity to talk, with — everything,' he said.

'No,' she said, 'but the Gardiners are a delight.'

'Yes, they are.' He paused. 'You are happy, Georgiana?'

She lifted up her eyes, astonished. 'Yes, of course.'

'Of course?'

She tried to gather her thoughts. It was so much easier to express herself on paper! 'I was afraid,' she said slowly, 'that you and Elizabeth, that you would not . . . want me. That there might be school again, or, or — something.'

'Georgiana!' He sounded horrified.

'Or that Elizabeth would not like me, or would only endure me for your sake, or that I would just be a weight and a burden to you, a duty.'

'Georgiana, I . . .' He paused. 'It is difficult to say. Yet there are things that must be said. It is easier on paper.'

Laughter bubbled out of her throat. 'I was just thinking that!'

He laughed too, softly. 'Perhaps we are more alike than we know, you and I.' He paused. 'Georgiana, I want you to listen carefully to me. You are a duty — as are Elizabeth and any children we may have, the estates, the servants and tenants, our family connections.' She had only heard him speak so, with that quiet, intense note in his voice, on a very few occasions. She listened. 'People speak a good deal of nonsense about duty, as if any sort of moral obligation must be disagreeable, or that one only does one's duty because it is one's duty. Believe me when I say that that sort of thing is nonsense. I would be miserable without duty; and my duty to you has been my only consolation these many years,— and particularly this last year.'

She started. 'This year? But — how can you — after what happened — '

She heard him catch his breath. Then he said, in measured tones, 'We had better go to the library. I believe there is a discussion between us long overdue.'

As soon as they were comfortably seated before the fire, the two siblings began to speak.

'Fitzwilliam, I — '

'Georgiana, there are — '

They looked at one another and smiled, then laughed. Both gladly stretched their long legs a moment. 'You said there was something you wished to discuss with me?' she asked tentatively, holding the garnets against her for reassurance.

'Yes.' He took a slow, deep breath. 'It has come to my attention that — that there are some things — that it seems you have misapprehended my — ' He turned his head a little away, staring into the fire as he searched for words. 'You have misapprehended some of my opinions.'

She said nothing, not certain whether to be fearful or curious.

'I would ask that you listen very carefully to what I say, and do not dismiss it as reflecting anything other than my true opinion. Do you understand?'

'Yes.' The firelight flickered in the garnets, along the harsh clean lines of his face; he turned to look at her squarely. Georgiana's first impulse was to glance away, but instead she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, she thought, did not have the same eyes, after all. Fitzwilliam's were grey — dark, but not as dark as Mrs Darcy's — their mother's eyes, and Lord Ancaster's and Lady Catherine's, but not Mrs Darcy's. Georgiana felt anew the force of the connection between them, so often overlooked in her awe and respect and admiration.

'I am very proud of you,' he said, almost carelessly. 'You are admirable in every possible respect.'

She could not stop herself. 'Even after what I did?'

Her brother's face froze, and she just kept herself from recoiling at his expression. 'I am not angry at you,' he said after a moment. At her incredulous look, he added, 'I am, however, so angry at him that I can scarcely think.'

'I would — I would like to blame him,' she said, hardly noticing the garnets digging against her tight grip. 'But I cannot. I must take responsibility for my own part in it. I was so foolish, brother, I — '

'You were fifteen; he took advantage of your youth and innocence,' he said.

Georgiana gathered her courage and met his eyes. 'I was young, but I was not deficient, and I knew better, the whole while I knew, I knew it was wrong. I do not know how you can forgive such gross imprudence on my part.'

'If I am not mistaken, you did not believe I had.'

She shook her head.

'Georgiana.' He looked away, slowly exhaled, then returned his gaze to hers. 'Georgiana, very well. You _were_ imprudent, not so much in attaching yourself to someone so far beneath you, but in consenting to an action you felt to be wrong.' She had always known it, had said so, but it hurt all the same; her eyes burned. 'You were fifteen years old. You trusted the judgment of your companion, you had no reason to distrust Mr Wickham, and the only reason you had any doubts was because of your own good sense and good principles.'

'I should have known better,' Georgiana repeated.

'You did know better.' She nearly wept at the fierce expression on his face, certain that somehow, at this late date, she had lost his good opinion forever. 'You knew better, you knew it was wrong, and that is why you were uneasy, that is why the influence of those you had placed your faith in failed — '

'It did not fail! I agreed to elope, I would have — '

'That is why,' he went on inexorably, 'you told me everything. You knew I would not approve, did not you? You knew I would forbid it? You knew that, at your age, I would forbid any marriage?'

She nodded, utterly miserable.

'And yet you told me. What did you think I would do?'

'I do not know, I did not know, I only knew you would take care of everything, and I could not bear to disappoint you, and that would be defying you and — ' Tears poured freely down her face, and she shook her head. 'I could not do it. Oh, how I wanted you there! But I did not dare write, or ask — I did not dare anything —' Blindly, she held out both hands to him. She heard him stand up, felt the strong grips of their fingers twisted together, and she buried her face against his shoulder, dropping one of his hands. 'I am sorry,' she gasped, through harsh, wracking sobs. 'Fitzwilliam, I am so sorry.'

'I never doubted your penitence, Georgiana.' He gently stroked her hair, as he had when she was a child running to him after a bad dream. 'And . . . and I am sorry, also, that I did not take better care of you.'

This extraordinary pronouncement jarred her out of her misery. 'I beg your pardon?'

'My dear Georgiana, you cannot think I did not feel it. _I_ hired Mrs Younge, I failed to recognise her true character, I sent her to Ramsgate with you. I failed to tell you what Wickham was. I failed to warn you against fortune hunters.'

'No!' she cried. 'No, if anyone is not to blame, it is you. You are the only reason I am not in poor Lydia Bennet's situation right now.'

'Not I — you. I could have done nothing if you had not confided in me. Do you understand, Georgiana, that you do not owe your — your deliverance to Richard, or Kate, or me, or any other person, before yourself? And that is where the difference between the two of you lies. I tried to keep her from marrying him. It could have been arranged. She would not leave him. She did not want anyone's help. She cared nothing for her family, her friends, her reputation. You were befuddled and vulnerable, and far, far more innocent than Lydia Wickham ever was. I am not only your brother, Georgiana, I am your guardian, and it is there that I failed you. You would never have been in that situation had I taken adequate precautions.'

Georgiana was incredulous and horrified and obscurely comforted. She had thought he could not forgive her; she could not forgive herself, and he was so good, of course he would not understand the depth of her regret. Yet he did, more than anybody, for she could hear the self-disgust in his voice, as clearly as she felt it whenever she thought of that horrible summer. It seemed impossible, ridiculous, that he might blame himself for her folly, and yet he was _Fitzwilliam_, so stubborn and proud and . . . and so always right, what could she say?

After a short silence, she said, 'Did Mrs Wickham tell anyone? Before — before they went off together?'

'There were hints in letters to one of her sisters — Catherine. She left a note for the friend she was staying with.' His voice gentled. 'Georgiana, the similarities in situation between the two of you are all the more astonishing because two more dissimilar young ladies surely never existed. She did not wish anyone to know. She wanted to go off with him. She did not care sixpence for her family. She told me as much herself.'

Georgiana felt a rush of revulsion at the thought, the sort of feeling that shamed her and that she would never dream of mentioning aloud. Loyalty to her family had been first, before affection, before all other duties, for so long that the very idea of any sort of estrangement was abhorrent to her. How could anyone, a girl of her own age, Elizabeth's sister, simply not care? She had thought, that summer, that freedom from responsibility and obligation and deference would be — liberating, somehow. And yet, when she allowed herself to face the prospect of a future without the shackles of duty, she felt as if the very earth had crumbled beneath her feet.

'It was not your fault,' she said, more strongly, taking a step backwards and wiping her eyes. 'You did everything you could, and when I needed you, you were there, like a — a miracle. I did know you would not let the engagement persist.' She felt her eyes widen. 'I knew it, when I told you -- I just knew that you would know what to do. I trusted you.'

He stared at her keenly, then his face lightened. 'Then I am very glad I did something right, as that trust enabled us to avert this tragedy.'

'You do everything right. Sometimes I wonder how you can care for me — I do not doubt you, but . . .' She shrugged. 'I make so many mistakes. You and Elizabeth are so . . . decisive.'

'I assure you, Georgiana, my decisiveness has caused far more mistakes, and more grievous ones, than all your caution.'

She shook her head. Logically, of course, her brother must have made mistakes -- he was human, imperfect — but she had never seen them. 'And Elizabeth?' she enquired sadly. 'Surely she has never misjudged anyone like I did?'

Something, some emotion she could not identify, flashed across his face. Fitzwilliam turned his head away, biting his lip. 'You will must speak to her about that,' he said, after a pause. 'As for the . . . other, I cannot simply command you to forgive yourself, any more than you can do the same for me. However, you must understand that I do not blame you, and that I will never care for anyone as I do you.'

'But — you love Elizabeth as much, I am sure of it!'

'My feelings for her are not remotely fraternal,' he said dryly. 'She certainly does not feel for me what she does for Mrs Bingley. And you are my only sister, Georgiana, you have been — for a very long time, you were all that I had.'

'That is what you meant? When you said your duty to me was your consolation?'

'Yes. No matter how — difficult — anything was, you needed me. My duty to you kept my resolve firm. For many years, you and I have had only each other to depend upon. Nothing can ever wholly replace that, do you understand?'

Georgiana felt as if her head were stuffed, she had heard and discovered so much, most of which had never entered her mind before. She took a deep breath, something in her steadying, as if for the first time, she had something solid in herself to cling to. And the last bit of fear slipped away. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. 'I understand,' she said, awash in contentment. 'Thank you, it is so . . . so . . .'

'Sometimes, my dear, there are no words.' He ruffled her hair, as he had when she was a child. 'Now, it is very late; you should go to sleep. It is Christmas tomorrow, or rather, today.'

'Good night, Fitzwilliam.'

'Good night, Georgiana.'


	6. Chapter 6

_Last chapter: the Darcys and Gardiners exchange gifts on Christmas Eve, and Georgiana and Darcy have a long overdue discussion about the Wickham affair._

**Chapter Six**

_'Christians, awake, salute the happy morn_

_Whereon the Saviour of the world was born_

_Rise to adore the mystery of love_

_Which hosts of angels chanted from above,_

_With them the joyful tidings first begun_

_Of God incarnate and the virgin's Son.'_

'Wha — ?' Mrs Gardiner sat upright. Her husband mumbled something and buried his head under the pillow.

'Papa, wake up!' chirped Neddy.

'Up!' said John, who did not know the words but substituted happy _la la la_s instead.

'Merry Christmas, Mama,' said Meg with dignity. She spared a look at her father, then took a deep breath. 'Then to the watchful shepherds it was told — '

'Who heard th'angelic herald's voice —' bawled Amelia. Georgiana winced. It had seemed a good idea at the time —

'Merry Christmas,' Mrs Gardiner said, coming to the door and looking at her children. 'Why, Miss Darcy!'

'Merry Christmas,' Georgiana said shyly.

'How charming — was this your idea?'

She nodded. 'When I was a child . . . well, I have not been here at Christmas for a long time, but at our house in town, and whenever we are with my family . . .'

'Of course. Edward.' She turned to her husband. 'Edward, get up! The children came to wish us a merry Christmas — or perhaps merely to announce it.'

Georgiana did not dare laugh as Mrs Darcy's uncle mumbled under her breath, but he seemed cheerful enough by the time he got to the door. 'Merry Christmas, Miss Darcy — girls, Neddy. What a charming surprise.'

She bit her lip, thinking, a little sadly, that even this year she was almost too old, and it was probably the last time. She would never be a child at Christmas again.

'La!'

Mr Gardiner laughed, swinging his younger son up into his arms. 'And John, you little miscreant.'

'Appy Kissmas,' said John.

Amelia giggled. Meg said, 'Shall we sing to Cousin Lizzy and Mr Darcy now?'

Georgiana hesitated. 'Well — usually one only sings to guests.'

'Oh no,' Mr Gardiner said firmly, 'there are so few guests, I am sure it would be acceptable — indeed, it would be very unfair to exclude them from such a delightful awakening.' Georgiana didn't know whether he was serious or not; his look was perfectly sober, but there was _something_ in his voice — she waited as the children kissed their parents, then Amelia tugged at her hand.

'I want to sing some more!'

'We shall just be getting dressed then . . .' murmured Mrs Gardiner.

Georgiana nodded, and allowed the four small Gardiners to pull at her skirts and hands. 'Where is their room?' Meg asked, eyes wide.

'Well, there are two . . .'

'Whatever for?' demanded Amelia. 'Mama and Papa use only one.'

'Shh!' said Meg. 'Rich people are different.'

'Indeed,' said Georgiana, taking a deep breath as she stood outside her brother's chambers. Amelia, fearless as ever, knocked loudly on the door. After a moment, she heard Fitzwilliam's distinctive tread, and he opened the door, looking alert and composed despite the fact that he was still in his dressing gown. To her quickly concealed astonishment, Elizabeth was there also, lying sprawled across Fitzwilliam's bed with her dark hair loose and tangled about her shoulders, resting her head against her hand.

'Christians, awake, salute the happy morn,' all five began, Georgiana's voice trembling a little. Her brother's expression instantly softened, a slow smile crossing his face. Elizabeth, who had appeared rather sleepy, instantly sat up, and as soon as they were done, clapped her hands enthusiastically, nearly leaping up to join her husband at the door.

'How wonderful! It has been years since I have seen it. Have you already been to my aunt and uncle?'

'Yes. We were . . . we were going to go to your room . . .' She twisted her fingers together, then determinedly separated them.

'Ah. Well, you will generally have more luck finding me here,' Elizabeth said, with a brief, lingering look at Fitzwilliam, who was kneeling down to face the children properly. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and their eyes held for a moment before he coloured and looked away, a curious half smile on his lips.

Georgiana blushed furiously.

'It was my idea to come to you too,' Meg said.

'And a very good one it was,' Elizabeth replied, smiling fondly.

'We spent hours and hours learnting it,' said Neddy. 'John didn't, though.'

'La la _la!_'

Everyone laughed. 'Very well, go downstairs,' said Fitzwilliam. 'We shall not be very long.'

'Merry Christmas, Mr Darcy!' Amelia piped up.

'Merry Christmas, Amelia,' he replied, very gravely, pushing a wayward strand of hair back into her long plait. 'Now, all of you run along, we shall not be more than a few minutes.'

As they walked away, Georgiana heard Fitzwilliam's voice, and then Elizabeth's laughter, and she smiled contentedly. She was certain it would be a wonderful Christmas, the happiest in years.

* * *

It was. They went to the villages, distributing all the traditional gifts, and Georgiana joined the children for the last carols in the servants' hall. After they were shipped off to bed, she hesitated awkwardly, looking about herself. It was only a moment before Mrs Darcy hurried out, then stopped. 

'Georgiana, why are you not eating with us?'

'I have never . . .' She blushed. 'I was not sure if I was — allowed.'

'Oh, nonsense. You are of age and you are out. Come along.' With a bright smile, she pulled her into the dining hall. 'My love, here she is!'

Fitzwilliam, looking especially content in his quiet way, rose and held out his hand to her. 'You must stay with us, Georgiana. You are a young lady now.'

She blushed, feeling how unworthy she was of his regard, but very pleased to have it all the same. She went and sat in the empty chair at his right hand. Everyone greeted her, and Mr Gardiner said,

'Miss Darcy, we were speaking of accomplishments. Or rather, my wife and niece, and your brother, were; I know when to hold my tongue.'

Georgiana smiled shyly.

'Mr Darcy , you do not truly think so ill of educated women?' said Mrs Gardiner. Georgiana's eyes widened. Outside of her family, she had never heard any lady speak so — so, so _boldly_ — to her brother.

Fitzwilliam smiled. 'I fear you misunderstand me. If I may give an example, a lady who enjoys music for its own sake, who plays for her own pleasure and not for mere display — _she_ is one whom I admire. And I confess, I do think ill of the education that is offered most ladies. I find that most women with truly well-educated minds possess them despite their educations, not because of them.'

'What, then, do you think a lady's education should consist of?' Mrs Gardiner inquired.

'Books, before all else,' he said promptly. 'And I do not speak of those melodramatic horrors that my cousins so enjoyed, though they have their place. It is all well and good to enjoy the advantages of hearing what others have to offer from their own knowledge and experience, but anything learnt from another person is filtered through his own prejudices and limitations. Men and women alike should be taught to _think._'

Georgiana looked down at her venison. She was still glad that her brother had taken her out of that school, despite everything that had happened after. The other girls were so unpleasant, even those who simpered and flattered her to her face, and it wasn't as if she learnt anything of value. Even at her most despairing, she looked forward to lessons with her masters, and then discussions with her brother.

'We do not all have that luxury,' Mrs Darcy said suddenly. 'Marriage is the only honourable occupation for a well-bred lady. Is it any surprise that all of her powers are directed towards acquiring a husband?'

'Lizzy, you and I both know that is not so,' Mrs Gardiner interjected. 'Young ladies, even those without fortune, are not without choice or conscience.'

Mrs Darcy smiled. 'Yes, I know. Yet many are driven to desperation by circumstances beyond their control. I do not approve, but I cannot blame. So many women are judged only by their fortunes and beauty, or lack of them.'

'Such young ladies, certainly, are to be pitied,' said Fitzwilliam, 'even when they turn around and judge men as little more than so many hundreds or thousands a year, as — to use your word — _acquisitions_.' He had never spoken so before Georgiana, and there was a note in his voice that seemed very strange to her.

'It is one of the greatest failings of modern society, I think, that marriage is so often such a _businesslike_ affair. Some affection is expected, but how often is it truly present?' Mrs Gardiner shook her head. 'It does, at least, increase one's sense of gratitude.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed Mrs Darcy. 'I believe we may _all_ agree about that.' She looked across the table, meeting Fitzwilliam's gaze, and the vibrant laughter in her face softened briefly to a look that, to Georgiana's eyes, had less of vivacity and more of tenderness. Within moments, the conversation had gained its usual animation, but that brief moment remained more vividly in Georgiana's memory than any other. She admired Elizabeth's spirit and liveliness, of course, but somewhere, somehow, she had cherished the fear that such a bright, sparkling creature could not possibly be well suited to Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had known people like that, people whose company was always delightful, whose manners were charming, and whose affections, while passionate, were as transient and mobile as quicksilver. Fitzwilliam's feelings, though little displayed, were fervent, and above all of her many fears for herself, she had feared for _him_, feared the worst sort of unequal marriage. When she saw in Elizabeth a capacity for a gentler, deeper affection — an affection that could be trusted — she felt a tightness in her chest dissolve, leaving her spirits lighter than they had been for a very long time.


	7. Chapter 7

_Last chapter: Christmas! The children sing carols -- and when they go to Darcy's room, they find Elizabeth lying in his bed. Georgiana is invited to sit with the adults, and there is a discussion about women, education, and fortune-hunting. Georgiana is reassured that Elizabeth truly loves her brother._

**Chapter Seven**

Georgiana did not like dancing. She never had. She was always terrified of making mistakes, of course, but that was not the real reason for the instinctive recoil of revulsion. The real reason was that she did not like dancing.

The girls at school, of course, had thought such sentiments unwomanly, vulgar, indelicate. Yet she was a lady. There was no getting out of it, really. After all, Fitzwilliam danced — a little — sometimes — and he disliked it as much as she could do.

The weather had subsided enough that he resignedly consented to the entire Pemberley party attending the Twelfth Night ball. Elizabeth and her relations were delighted; Georgiana, as the days slowly passed, looked forward to the Ponsonbys' celebrations with increasing dread.

She distracted herself with the kitten, who grew healthier and vainer over the days after Christmas. He basked not only in her own attention, but that of the three eldest Gardiner children, the servants, her brother and sister-in-law, and anyone else who happened to pass by the basket where he spent most of his time. He also seemed very loyal to Georgiana, appearing whenever she was upset, and attacking anyone nearby.

'What are you calling it?' her brother asked one evening, after she had gone to his study to discuss the novel she was reading. This time, Mrs Darcy was with her relations; Georgiana was not certain whether she regretted her sister-in-law's absence or not. Her wit and brilliancy was generally delightful, but it could be exhausting too; after the vicissitudes of Georgiana's daily life, sometimes it was pleasant to feel only the quiet serenity that pervaded her companionship with her brother, without worrying about the alarm, bewilderment, and admiration that suffused her when she observed Mrs Darcy.

She met his quizzical expression, and was jolted back to the moment. 'Narcissus,' she said.

'How very appropriate,' he replied with a smile, and she returned it.

'I thought so. He is not the . . . sweetest natured animal . . . nor the humblest . . .'

'It is the nature of cats to be ill-tempered and conceited,' Fitzwilliam said, looking amused. 'Particularly, I daresay, Pemberley ones.'

'Elizabeth told me that you had a cat once,' she said, startled at her own daring. Her brother's childhood had, somehow, always been an unspoken subject at Pemberley. She had never known why, or really known anything beyond the vague impression of unhappiness. Not _hers_, she had been very happy until her father's last illness — but when she cast her mind back and tried to recall anything very early, she could not think of anything, except missing Fitzwilliam sometimes when he was away at university.

His expression turned as surprised as her own. 'I never mentioned her?'

Georgiana shook her head.

'She died when I was sixteen, though she had so many litters, I daresay some of her descendants are still around. Your Narcissus is probably one, we had hardly any mousers before I found her.'

'You found her? Like I did Narcissus?' Georgiana's lips curved as she met his eyes squarely.

'Very like. She . . .' He paused, and she knew that he was determining what to say and what not to. _Wickham_, she thought. 'She fell into the river when I was four. I swam in to save her, and she scratched my face.' He smiled reminiscently. 'She grew very attached to me after I rescued her, though I doubt if she cared for another human being.'

'Did she look like Narcissus?'

'No . . . well, she was very thin, very small, but she was grey, not black. I called her Alfred.'

Georgiana giggled. 'I am glad you had someone to look after you,' she said. His brows knitted slightly, then his expression cleared.

'Thank you, dear.' He hesitated a moment. 'There is a sketch of her, over on Elizabeth's table. She was looking at it.'

Georgiana walked over at his gesture, and smiled to herself. While Fitzwilliam's papers were perfectly orderly, Elizabeth's were scattered in messy piles. On the very top was a drawing of a creature that might have been a cat, a small ball of fluffy fur dwarfed by its enormous eyes and ears.

At the same time that she laughed at the sight of her brother's pet, she glanced down at the letter which slipped out when she picked up the picture. She just caught the signature — _Lydia Wickham_. Before she could think on it, she turned away and focused all of her attention on the small picture of the cat, on the image she instantly constructed of the solemn boy in her mother's portrait with this laughable creature—

Her mother's portrait! They had never told him. 'Oh! Fitzwilliam,' she cried. 'I only now remembered.'

'Remembered what, Georgiana?'

'The portrait — we found, that is, Elizabeth found Mother's, when we were in the chapel.'

'The chapel?' He frowned. 'Mother's portrait is not there — Lord Ancaster brought it from Houghton, shortly after the wedding.'

'No, not that one — _another_ — '

'Another? Impossible, Father had them destr— ' He stopped, paling, and looking steadily ahead at some point over her shoulder. Then, with the sort of sudden, unexpected movement she had not often seen in him since they were both quite young, he sprang up. 'The chapel? The old one?'

'Yes — ' she eyed him — 'you are not angry?'

'Angry? I?' He laughed rather queerly. 'No, no, of course not. Come, you must show me where it is.'

The idea of _Fitzwilliam_ requiring directions was so laughable that she could scarcely help an incredulous look from overtaking her face, but she nodded and obeyed.

'You are in it, too,' she said presently. 'It was just a few years before I was born, I think; you do not look twelve, but Mother is much older than the other.'

'I remember that,' he said, sounding almost breathless, like a child. The child in that portrait — she opened the door, and with quick long steps, they approached the painting. It had been partly re-covered, but by someone too short to do it properly. Georgiana easily pulled the sheet off.

For a moment, brother and sister gazed at the painting. Then Georgiana glanced back at Fitzwilliam. He was so different now! She could only see bare hints of the boy he had been amid the sharp angles of his face — the eyes, of course, and perhaps something of the mouth.

'Yes, this is the one,' he said. He reached out a hand, then dropped it again. The other paintings seemed to surround them like old ghosts; with as little warning as before, he spun and revealed, one after another, all the nearest portraits.

'Good God!' she cried.

An absent 'Georgi_an_a' was her only reprimand. He seemed almost as shocked as she was. Five, six, seven — her mother's face looked out at them from eight different paintings. Three must have been taken when she was quite young — in the first, she looked only a year or two older than Georgiana was now. In the last of these, there was an infant in her arms, its head covered by tufts of fair hair.

'Fitzwilliam, who is that?'

'Alexandra.'

Georgiana took a fascinated step forward. The sister who had died before Fitzwilliam was even born — she had _known_, of course, but Alexandra had never been real to her. Just one like all the others who had died, some immediately after their births, some living to see several weeks, but all of them dead in the end.

Mr Darcy, Lady Anne, and Alexandra were all three in the next portrait. The latter, a tall, pretty girl of about six or seven, stood by her — their — father. Together, father and daughter looked happy, almost idyllically so — Lady Anne, dark and coldly sedate, seemed almost separate from them, and yet her expression had as much contentment to it as serenity.

By the next, everything had changed. Alexandra was gone; Mr Darcy was nearly as severe as his wife; there was a sort of defiant pride to Lady Anne's sombre face. She was much thinner, the elegant planes of her features harsh and fierce. Both were in black.

'That was about eight months before I was born,' Fitzwilliam said, startling her. 'It was only just after Alexandra died. Father insisted upon a portrait being taken; Mother never understood why. She said she wanted to forget it all.'

'I see,' Georgiana replied. _These_ people were her parents? Her family? She almost felt that she did not like them very much. _Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth are my family_, she thought firmly, and smiled a little.

The sixth was yet again different. Mr Darcy seemed even more distressed; he was still in mourning. Lady Anne's grey gown was almost blue, and _she_ looked almost exactly as she had in the painting with the infant Alexandra, except happier.

'That is you?' Georgiana asked, pointing at the child her mother held.

He only nodded, searching their parents' flat painted eyes, as if they contained the secrets of the universe. The next was the one Elizabeth had already discovered, and last —

'Is that _me_?'

Fitzwilliam took her arm. 'Yes.'

Lady Anne, even wearier and thinner than in the picture Elizabeth had discovered, held her last child in her arms. Georgiana stared at herself. She had been a plump, healthy girl, with wide dark eyes looking all around and plenty of dark hair. She was laughing while her mother smiled down at her. Fitzwilliam seemed taller and much thinner, his expression protective as he rested one hand on Lady Anne's shoulder.

'Where was Father?'

'I do not remember,' Fitzwilliam replied. 'He was often gone on matters of business.'

She took a step closer, pulling him with her. 'When — when did she die? I mean, how long after this?'

'This was in the autumn, about four months after your fourth birthday. She died in December, so — two months.'

'Oh!' Yes, her face was pale and waxen, her form far too light, but she seemed so _happy_. Georgiana blinked tears away. 'I wish I had known her. I can hardly remember her at all.'

'I often wished that for you,' he said. 'Men make very poor mothers.'

She laughed shakily. 'So do many women. You were much better at it than — oh — Lady Ancaster. She had scarcely anything to do with them — did she even teach them to read?'

He, too, laughed. 'I do not recall. Remember, I was the youngest, until you.—Certainly she makes a fine lady of leisure, and could not manage anything more.'

Georgiana looked up. 'I could not do it, Fitzwilliam. I could not be like her.'

'Of course you could not. I certainly hope I raised you better than that.'

Relieved, she smiled. 'Yes, you did.'

'Fitzwilliam? Georgiana?' Mrs Darcy's voice rang out in the musty room. 'Molly said I might find you here. Did you find — '

She stopped dead, her quick gaze flicking from painting to painting. 'Why — I thought — '

'Perhaps we might speak with Mrs Reynolds,' Fitzwilliam said calmly. 'Would you mind sending for her, dear?'

Within moments, the housekeeper had appeared, looking even frailer than usual. 'Mr Darcy, sir, is there . . .' she swallowed — 'something I can do for you?'

'I had thought that all the paintings of my mother were destroyed; I am quite certain my father ordered it done.'

'Yes, sir, my Jack, he was the one who . . .' At his expression, the words quickly tumbled out. 'Jack didn't mean any harm, sir. It was just that when your poor mother died, and your father told my Jack, he told him that all the paintings were to be destroyed,— well, he was so odd then, if you understand me, sir, Jack was sure he could not be quite well, and you and Miss Darcy were so young that we thought you couldn't understand what was happening and surely you would want them when you were older . . . and nobody ever came in here, especially Mr Darcy, so . . . well, for your mother's sake and yours and Miss Darcy's, we thought . . .'

'I see,' said Fitzwilliam. 'And why did not you inform me of this, after my father died?'

'Well, sir, we thought it through and . . . well, he was the master and we had disobeyed him, and if you thought us disobedient, you might . . .'

'Ah.' He studied her a moment, then smiled. 'I am very grateful, Mrs Reynolds. Please give your nephew my thanks.'

Mrs Reynolds blushed like a girl. 'Oh, sir . . .' She blinked rapidly at the floor, then turned her usual pragmatic self. 'That Jenny will be bothering Mess'r Renaud again. I had better . . .'

'Of course; you are dismissed.' When she was gone, the entire family turned, as one, to look at the portraits again.

'Why Fitzwilliam, is that you?' Mrs Darcy inquired, peering at one of them. 'What a pretty baby you were, my love.'

Fitzwilliam winced.

* * *

Georgiana walked alone, past the study where her brother, as often as not accompanied by his wife, spent so much of his time. He was not there, the children were asleep, and all of the adults were in the blue sitting room — she could just hear the mingled laughter of Elizabeth and the Gardiners.

The letter, Mrs Wickham's letter, sprang into her mind. The unacknowledged flame of curiosity surged up in her again. Fitzwilliam, he did not know that Mrs Darcy was corresponding with her sister — not that she _oughtn't_, but — well, he didn't approve of Mrs Wickham, did he? Yet Georgiana, knowing as she did how close she had been to becoming Mrs Wickham herself, she could not help feeling a sort of odd kinship with the other girl. And she had heard him say that Mrs Darcy and Mrs Wickham did not correspond.

_It is my duty, to protect Fitzwilliam. Now that Wickham is his . . . our . . . brother, who knows what he might be planning?_ She firmly quelled the uprising of conscience and slipped into the study. Mrs Darcy's table was, if possible, even more chaotic than it had been the day before, but she found Mrs Wickham's letter easily enough. With a nervous, guilty look over her shoulder, she quickly read the brief, scrawling lines:

_My dear Lizzy,_

_I wish you joy. If you love Mr Darcy half as well as I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Mr Darcy about it, if you had rather not._

Georgiana stared at it, horrified. Then she heard footsteps and without thinking, pushed it away.

'Georgiana?'

She summoned up a smile when she set eyes on her brother, the last person in the world she wished to see at the moment. 'Good evening, sir,' she said nervously, her heart pounding in her ears, 'I was looking for the picture of Alfred, I wanted to draw Narcissus and couldn't get it quite right.'

He only said, 'You need only have asked, Georgiana; it is on my desk, on the third pile from the right. I shall give it to you later; we were wondering if you would care to join us.'

Overwhelmed with relief, she nodded eager assent, and leaned on his arm as they went to the drawing room, her mind racing.

What should she do?


	8. Chapter 8

_Last chapter: Georgiana talks with her brother, and remembers to tell him of the portrait of himself and their mother that she found with Elizabeth; they discover that it is one of eight paintings, none of which were actually destroyed. She finds a letter from Lydia to Elizabeth, asking her to use Darcy's influence for Wickham's benefit._

**Chapter Eight**

The horrible stolen knowledge seemed almost to burn in her chest, even days later. Georgiana hardly knew what to think. Fitzwilliam buy an estate for Mr Wickham! He would never do such a thing; she remembered when he had explained about the living, how he could not countenance Mr Wickham as a clergyman, such a man having the authority over others that his position would have permitted him. What he might do as a master, even of such a small estate —

She thought over the short, flippant note once more, almost hearing a good humoured, selfish voice prattling away, _do not speak to Mr Darcy about it if you would rather not._ When had it arrived? She remembered that day, when the letters for Mrs Darcy had come — how had she looked? Cheerful, gay, very much her usual self, except more so.

But it was clear, now, that Mr Wickham meant to press his connection to the Darcys as far as it would go. He would be uncle to Georgiana's own nieces and nephews. She suppressed a twitch of revulsion at the thought. Everything that she had heard from her relations seemed to make so much more sense now — the discontented murmurs that silenced when she or Lord Ancaster walked into the room, those first introductions, when they seemed so unjustifiably cold to poor Elizabeth, and then actual snippets of conversation she had overheard —

_'What is he thinking?'_

_'I like her.'_

_'He has not lost his senses, brother, he knows what he is doing —'_

_'she is very amiable, but —'_

_'she is a gentleman's daughter'_

_'She might be a good influence on him. If she is at all ambitious —'_

_'Anne's grandchildren to have relations in trade!'_

_'She is clever and charming, she could be taught.'_

_'She is Wickham's sister!'_

Georgiana shut her eyes. Her head ached. She liked Elizabeth, she did, and Elizabeth loved Fitzwilliam which was all that really mattered — except it didn't, she had learnt that with Wickham. _Miss Darcy marry Mr Wickham?_ The idea of disapproval had, at first, tantalised her, the sheer forbiddenness of it, but when she truly thought of the disappointment she would face from all those who had cared for her all her life, it was unutterably bad. Fitzwilliam had talked of Miss Elizabeth, as she had been then, in his letters, but nothing to arouse her suspicion. She had never dreamed — and what had _he_ thought? He said it was immoral and degrading to marry without any degree of affection, he said it was important to marry one's equal in every sense, in birth, in character, in genius, in fortune.

Oh, she was a good choice, of course she was, Fitzwilliam and Mrs Darcy were so happy together, and why should they not be? Mrs Darcy was a gentleman's daughter, after all, perhaps a country squire's with connections to make Georgiana's own stop and stare, but respectably born still.

Yet her entire family, unquestionably fond of her brother, had meant a great match for him, and she had always assumed that he meant one for himself, if he found someone suitable he held enough affection for. Instead he had married for inclination alone, and the family's chances for even mildly prosperous alliances were quickly dwindling. Eleanor, Lord Ancaster's daughter, had shocked everyone by running off with her suitor's son, James still mourned his faithless wife, Richard would marry anyone's daughter as long as she had an amiable temper and thirty thousand pounds at the very least, —and then Georgiana herself.

Thoughts crowded into her busy mind, images of Wickham barging into Pemberley, his thoughtless wife letting Georgiana's secret out (of course she must know now, husbands and wives always talked), the memory of her uncle and her brother walking side-by-side after her father died, Lord Ancaster watching Fitzwilliam with proud, solemn eyes,

Fitzwilliam said, _No, if you marry without a settlement, you will have not a farthing—_

and she understood with the most painful clarity in her life and could only sob in her brother's arms, and Richard said he would kill Wickham, and in that moment she wished he would--

_Nobody will find out, will they?_ she asked, and Fitzwilliam said,

_No, never—_

and then, months later,

_Miss Lydia Bennet, Miss Elizabeth's sister, they ran off together—_

_you made it right, though?_

_yes, of course I did, it is my responsibility,  
_  
and she stared at him and thought, _But **I** asked you to keep it secret, it is not your fault but mine and poor Miss Lydia must pay for it with her life—_

Mrs Wickham's letter, then, she heard, the few lines circling around and around in her head, and Mrs Darcy blithely saying that she was writing to Kitty — another sister? — who was so pleased to hear from her, and she hoped she would improve away from Lydia's influence —

_Only I, I am the only one left_ — and they would say I must marry doubly well to make up for Elizabeth-charming-as-she-is -- but what would Fitzwilliam say, and how could I possibly ask?

And, she knew suddenly, she did not want to be married, she was happy at Pemberley, in her way, and she wanted to stay with her brother and sister-in-law and be aunt to their children, and she did not want to even think about love or matrimony at all.

Curled up on the window, she hardly noticed her fingers tightening until Narcissus mewed. 'I am sorry, dear,' she murmured, stroking his silky black fur and staring at her fingers. They weren't at all ladylike, neither small nor plump; Cecily said she had a gentleman's hands (and Richard a spider's). More than once, she'd broken or damaged or hurt things, without ever meaning to. It was easy to forget how strong she was.

* * *

Georgiana rubbed her arm self-consciously, and looked down at her gown with a smile. She did not want to dance, but it was nice to wear beautiful clothes and look pretty. Of course the other ladies would be more fashionable, but she was sure their brothers and fathers were not half so generous. She had not yet had an opportunity to wear the pearls she had received on her sixteenth birthday, and she was half-afraid of some catastrophe befalling them, but Mrs Darcy had laughed and said that there was not much point in having beautiful jewelry if nobody ever saw it.

The days before the ball had confused her still more, as her sister-in-law had been perfectly herself, open, engaging, and affectionate with everybody, and in the best of spirits. Georgiana had never known anyone who laughed so much, and even her reserve could not stand against such natural good humour.

_I shan't think about it tonight,_ she decided. _There will be enough trouble without that._

'Georgiana?'

'Fitzwilliam!' Georgiana turned, enjoying the swish of her skirts against her ankles, and took a few cautious steps forward. 'You look very handsome,' she said shyly.

'As do you — are those Mother's pearls?'

'Yes, Elizabeth said . . .'

'Of course.'

Brother and sister admired one another a moment. Fitzwilliam was always so elegant. She could only hope to present herself with half so much grace. But in exactly the same colours he always wore, the white scarves amid her piles of dark hair echoing his immaculate neckcloth, she thought she _did_ resemble him more closely than usual. 'Are you looking forward to the ball?'

'No,' said Fitzwilliam. 'And you?'

'No.'

They looked at one another and smiled, amusement crinkling both pairs of eyes.

'You will be able to dance with Elizabeth,' she observed. 'Shall that not be pleasant?'

'Comparatively speaking.'

Georgiana laughed before she could stop herself. 'Compared to whom, brother?'

'Anyone else.' He took her arm and she opted to enjoy the peaceful respite while it lasted, though she could not lean her head on his shoulder as she had often done. 'At least it is a masque ball.'

Georgiana sighed. 'I suppose that is something; if I trip over my own feet, nobody will know it is me.'

'You have not tripped over your feet since you were nine, Georgiana. Dancing is unpleasant enough without borrowing trouble.'

Georgiana toyed with the material of her dress, though she could not feel its texture through her long gloves. 'Yes, of course you are right. Oh, why could not people be more sensible and not make such a fuss about prancing over the floor?'

'They like it,' Fitzwilliam said, in the same frankly wondering tone he used to speak of the Chinese. '_De gustibus non est disputandum_, I suppose.'

She felt a cloud of anxiety settling over her, and glancing at her watch. It was nearly time to go. 'Fitzwilliam, do you think Eliz — '

They could hear raised voices and hurried footsteps, and Mrs Darcy hurried down the steps, accompanied by Mr and Mrs Gardiner and the two eldest children. They hastily apologised.

'I cannot help fussing, I am rather nervous,' Mrs Darcy said, without the slightest evidence of any such thing. 'I am sure every woman in the room will hate me — and with good reason.' She laughed, her dark eyes lingering on Fitzwilliam a moment. 'Am I worthy of being seen in the company of Mr and Miss Darcy of Pemberley, do you think? It is a great honour, you know.'

Brother and sister both chorused their approval, to the great amusement of the Gardiners; though the daring neckline shocked Georgiana a little, Elizabeth, with her slim upright figure, was not nearly so exposed as most ladies who espoused the style.

'You look very lovely, Georgiana,' Elizabeth said, 'I quite envy your figure.'

Georgiana blushed, but could not keep from thinking that if Elizabeth were built on her own scale, Fitzwilliam would probably be wise not to let her out of the house in that gown. 'Thank you,' she murmured, accepting her black cloak from Ellen.

The journey to the Ponsonbys' was uneventful, the children trying not to bounce on the seats as they looked around eagerly. 'I've never been to a ball,' Meg explained in a loud whisper.

'This is a children's ball,' Georgiana told her. 'I have gone every year since I was smaller than you are.'

'Are you a child, Miss Darcy?' Amelia asked, wide eyed. 'Cousin Lydia isn't.'

'Not any more,' said Georgiana, and resolutely turned her head away, staring out the window into the darkness beyond.

When they arrived at Wakefield Hall, the ballroom was already full of people. Georgiana's throat closed a moment, she could not breathe — but it was a masque ball, nobody recognised her any more than she recognised them, of course, and the feeling quickly passed. Amelia and Meg were taken away to join the other children, the former uncharacteristically silent and the latter staring in astonishment.

'I beg your pardon, madam,' a voice near her said, and Georgiana turned sharply. The owner of the voice, a blue-coated gentleman with a head full of reddish brown curls, bowed. 'May I have the honour of the next dance?'

'I — I — ' she glanced sideways at her brother, who nodded a little. Georgiana swallowed. 'Of course, sir.'

After a moment of silence, the man spoke again. 'Tell me, are you much acquainted with the Ponsonbys?'

'Yes,' said Georgiana.

He chuckled. 'Forgive me, I do not mean to be impertinent.'

'I did not think you were.' Georgiana glanced down, making certain her feet were in the right place. It was not very difficult to dance, she'd had masters since she was a child, but being careful did no harm.

'My father's estate is not far from here,' he persevered. 'I have known them all my life.'

'I daresay we are neighbours then,' Georgiana replied. With an effort she kept her fingers steady, she did not want to seem the sort of vapid miss who swooned at one look from a personable man. He would not understand that company, any company, was enough to make her tremble.

'Oh? That narrows the field somewhat. Shall I try and guess? I must call you something, after all.'

'If you like.' They were separated by the dance, but as soon as he took her hand again, he began,

'Very well, if you are a neighbour of the Ponsonbys, you must be — ' he thought a moment, then laughed, 'oh, I could never keep track of all the daughters and sisters. A Miss Lindsay?'

Georgiana just caught the indignant retort which leapt to tongue. 'I really cannot say, sir.'

'Undoubtedly I will spend the next three weeks at Shiringham visitng every house for miles about, trying to discover the mysterious lady in white,' he said in a lively, even flirtatious, tone. Georgiana, faintly reminded of George Wickham, grew very cold, but then focussed on the information accidentally — or perhaps not so accidentally — dropped.

'Shiringham? You must be Mr Cardwell!' She then thought he could simply be a guest, but the russet shade of his hair caught her eyes — it was just the colour of Laura's.

'Guilty as charged,' he said, smiling before they went back into the line of dancers. She frowned a little to herself. 'I am very sorry to disappoint you.'

'I am not disappointed, only startled,' said Georgiana. 'Your mother said — ' She stopped, blushing.

'Ah! My poor dear mama is so eager for grandchildren, she rather too forward in regards to eligible young ladies.'

'Yet she already has one, Sophy is — '

'You are acquainted with my little niece?' His smile softened with affection, and Georgiana could not help warming a little to him. 'She is a lovely, sweet-natured child, I wish I could see more of her.'

'Perhaps, if you spend more time in the country, you shall,' said Georgiana. 'My — Mr Fitzwilliam does not go to town.'

'No, it does not suit him. For Sophia's sake I am glad, she was such a frail infant — London might have ruined her constitution for ever.'

'Yes — it is better for everyone, I think, that he stays at Houghton.'

His lips twitched. 'You must have Fitzwilliam connections, then, to be so familiar with the family. Perhaps a Deincourt? Darcy? Leigh?'

'I really cannot say,' she repeated.

'It is quite unfair, miss — or should it be your ladyship?'

Georgiana looked down. 'Whichever you like.'

'You are quite determined to protect your secret, I see.' She could not quite suppress a flinch, but he did not seem to notice. 'Tell me, are you often in Derbyshire?'

'Always in the summer months — almost always,' she replied. She could hear the music coming to an end.

'Then I hope I shall see you often, Lady Blanche.' He clasped her hand and bowed, then left. Georgiana let out a sigh of relief. One set was over. She looked around for Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, but could not find either of them amid what seemed hundreds of people milling about. Even Fitzwilliam's height and Mrs Darcy's yellow gown were not enough to distinguish them from the crowd.

Georgiana bit her lip, feeling young, small, and lonely among so many people. 'Excuse me, ma'am — ' a man said.

Resigned, she turned to him. Though he had a handsome face, he was hardly taller than she was and seemed rather over-dressed, not an army man but in a scarlet coat all the same. 'Yes, sir?'

'Tell me, what do you think of Scott?'

She blinked. 'I — '

'His lines on woman are simply _delicious_, do not you think so? They are never out of my thoughts. The man who could read them unmoved must have the nerves of an assassin! Heaven defend me from meeting such a man unarmed.'

All the beauty in the world, she decided, could not have made up for such conversation. She smiled politely, searching for a dark head above the crowd, or a glimpse of yellow.

'— it is the want of passion. Tender, elegant, descriptive — but _tame_. The man who cannot do justice to the attributes of woman is my contempt. Sometimes indeed a flash of feeling seems to irradiate him — '

'I beg your pardon?' Another gentleman bowed, precisely the opposite of her present companion in every respect. He was tall, with a good figure, plain face, and wildly untidy red hair. 'If you do not intend to dance with the young lady, I hope I may do so without inspiring undue contempt?'

'Oh! of course, of course,' the literary gentleman replied; the other led her away with nary a by-your-leave.

'I am Alistair Satterthwaite IV,' he pronounced, then smiled crookedly. 'I hope you forgive my boldness, Sir Edward is terribly long-winded.' He shifted his mask about. 'Dashed uncomfortable things.'

'I thank you, sir,' she replied, not certain what to think. 'Sir Edward? Is his estate near here?'

'No estate at all,' he muttered. 'Poor as churchmice, the lot of them, until the old dowager dies, and no entail — you know what that means.'

Not wishing to appear ignorant, she said, 'Oh, of course.'

'She might leave the whole bundle to the second footman, for all anyone can say.'

She was sure she was not imagining the glee in his voice at the thought. Georgiana sighed.

* * *

The last gentleman, one who lavished her with compliments and could not have been a day under fifty, finally departed after repeated kisses on her hand. She had never been so grateful for gloves and turned away, trying not to show her distaste. A small circle of men were not far from her, all talking in low, though animated voices; not for a year and a half had she been so happy to set eyes on her brother's black-clad figure.

'Oh, there you are!' she cried, before thinking that she might be unwelcome. However he did not look at all displeased to see her, but instead smiled and took her arm.

'Gentlemen, my sister.'

All murmured pleasant greetings. 'Tell me, Miss Darcy, what do you think of dancing?' one enquired.

Georgiana felt raw and exhausted. 'I do not like it,' she said, and several chuckled.

'I see that forthrightness is a family trait,' he replied, and another added,

'And good sense!'

'Do not let your wife hear that,' Fitzwilliam warned. 'Speaking of which, I believe I have a duty to mine.'

Everyone laughed, and they walked away. 'It was awful,' she said, 'well, Mr Cardwell was pleasant, but then there was this dreadful baronet, practically a walking cliché, and Mr Satterthwaite was a malicious gossip, and Lord St Clair embarrassed me terribly, and . . .' She realised where she was and covered her mouth with a gasp. 'Oh! I forgot myself, Fitzwilliam, I did not mean it . . .'

'Oh, I think you did,' he said, looking at her expressively. Georgiana bit her lip. 'Never lie to cover up an offence, Georgiana; apologise by all means, but do not retract the truth.'

'I shan't,' she promised, and as she saw what looked like a familiar shock of red hair approaching, she clutched her brother's arm defensively. 'That is Mr Satterthwaite,' she hissed.

'Shall we make our escape then? I think I see Elizabeth — yes, there she is.'

They vanished into a small crowd, thankfully losing sight of Mr Satterthwaite. Mrs Darcy, talking with a tall fair-haired couple and her uncle and aunt, did not see them at first; then she caught sight of Fitzwilliam and her face lit up. 'I beg your pardon, my husband has been off gallivanting,' she cried, holding out a hand to him.

'Hiding, rather,' Fitzwilliam replied, a bit ruefully, kissing her hand and bowing to the strangers. 'I hope you have been adequately entertained, my dear.'

'I believe we have had that honour,' said the lady; 'your wife is exceptionally clever, sir.'

He started. 'Dolly? Is that you? I had no idea — '

'I _said_ he would know me — did not I?' she exclaimed, turning to her companions. The gentleman, the Gardiners, and Mrs Darcy all laughingly concurred. 'Mr Darcy, I congratulate you on a very wise choice.'

'Thank you,' he replied.

'Why, is this little Georgiana, out of the schoolroom at last?' The woman scrutinised her. 'I declare, you look eighteen at least. It must be your height.'

'Really, you ought to show some consideration — you are embarrassing her,' the gentleman said, correctly interpreting the flush on Georgiana's cheeks. This voice was more familiar, but she could not quite place it.

'If I did, then I am sorry,' she said robustly, then cried, 'oh Lord, it's John. Who is that with him?'

'Cannot you recognise your own father-in-law, dearest sister?'

'What nonsense are you speaking of? I am your only sister, and Father is quite we— ' Even in the dim light, it was easy to see her face turn white. 'Not Sir Edward?'

Georgiana frowned, but the grey hair was certainly not that of the penniless baronet she knew.

'The very man,' her brother responded. 'Why, you do not seem quite eager — '

'Oh,' she exclaimed, 'will nobody ask me to dance?'

Her voice caught the attention of a neighbour. Accordingly he turned to her and said cheerfully, 'If you are quite desperate, your ladyship, I hope you would be willing to dance a set with me.'

'Yes, thank you,' she said, and positively fled on his arm. Georgiana wondered if this could be any worse than what she had already endured, but she was not to find out.

'Will you do me the honour, Miss Darcy?' the fair-haired gentleman enquired. 'Believe me, it is for your own good, though I understand you dislike dancing.'

She blushed and whispered her acquiescence in a barely audible voice. He was, however, rather gentler than she expected from his manner with his sister, and carried on a polite conversation almost unaided. The dance had only just ended when it was time to remove their masks; Georgiana could see Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth not far away. Apparently they, too, had fled the company of 'John' and the other Sir Edward.

She looked up at him curiously, certain that she knew him.

'Why, Lord Courtland!' she burst out, almost forgetting her own mask. 'I thought your voice was familiar.' She knew him quite well; he was a Darcy connection, she did not how they were related exactly, but she knew he would have been her brother's heir if the entailment had not been broken. In addition, he, Richard, and Fitzwilliam had been companions from their youth, had gone to school and later university together, and were in general very close friends.

'I am honoured, Miss Darcy,' he said with a pleasant smile. 'I hope you will forgive Dorothea; she meant no offence.'

'That was Lady Dorothea?' Her eyes widened. Well, of course it was; but she spent so much time in Ireland, and the rest in town, that Georgiana had not seen her since before Mr Darcy's death. 'I — oh, of course, I do not blame her for anything.'

'I am sure she is very grateful,' he said; 'Miss Darcy, do you know if your brother will be in town during the coming winter? As newly married as he is, I should not think so.'

'I believe not,' Georgiana said.

'Excellent. Excellent!'

'What is excellent, Courtland?' Fitzwilliam asked, his voice amused. Georgiana whirled, startled to see both her brother and sister there.

'Why, that I shall have the delight of your scintillating company, my friend,' Lord Courtland replied, laughing. 'I am going to take the liberty of calling at Pemberley sometime this next week, if it is convenient for us both.'

'Very kind of you, I am sure,' Fitzwilliam said. 'Go rescue your sister, Courtland. Willoughby has her.'

'Oh, Good God.' He rushed off with scarcely a bow.

'You look exhausted, Georgiana,' Mrs Darcy said after one glance at her. 'Do you think we may leave, Fitzwilliam?'

'Oh! certainly,' he replied with quickly subdued enthusiasm. 'I shall just fetch the Gardiners.'

They felt no anxiety to stay either, so the entire family quickly bade farewell to their hosts.

When they finally returned home, Georgiana would have gladly fallen into bed exactly as she was, but Kate, she knew, never stood for such behaviour. She felt her hair swing down with a sigh of relief and gladly abandoned the fine dress she had worn.

'I hope your ball was nice, ma'am,' Kate offered, with an appearance of meekness that Georgiana knew to be completely contrary to her real character.

She thought of 'her' Sir Edward, about Mr Satterthwaite and Lord St Clair, and then of Mr Cardwell, Lord Courtland, of how happy little Amelia had been to be declared queen. Finally, she said,

'It could have been much worse.'

* * *

_de gustibus non est disputandum: Latin, 'taste knows no argument'  
Blanche: French, 'white'_


	9. Chapter 9

_Last chapter: Georgiana is extremely conflicted over Elizabeth, thanks largely to the Wickham connections and her family's disapproval, and also realises the expectations now weighing on her. She puts both matters out of her mind, however, due to the stress of a masquerade ball she reluctantly attends. She dances with a series of men, flirtatious or irritating or both, and is re-acquainted with her Willoughby cousins._

**Chapter Nine**

The Gardiners and Darcys enjoyed a degree of tranquillity after the Twelfth Night ball. Meg and Amelia were sleeping, exhausted from the evening before, while Mr Gardiner and Mrs Darcy played with the little boys; Georgiana and Mrs Gardiner sewed, and Fitzwilliam was contentedly absorbed in a new book.

For a little while, Georgiana felt utterly at peace, her fingers embroidering almost of their own volition, and a smile on her face as she watched the scene before her. Belatedly, she remembered what she had forced out of her mind the evening before — Mrs Wickham's letter.

She pricked her finger. Georgiana surreptitiously wiped the blood off, forcing herself to think. _Fitzwilliam always says I have sense_, she told herself. _I shall prove him right. I **will** be rational._ She took a breath.

She had seen the date, and she remembered when Mrs Darcy's letters had arrived that week. It was before she heard Mrs Gardiner ask if there had been any word from Lydia; Mrs Darcy was not there, but Fitzwilliam was, and he said that the sisters did not write. That meant that at least _he_ believed they were not corresponding, and therefore did not know about the letter.

Georgiana swallowed the lump in her throat, staring down at the sampler, her mind working faster than her hands could. Mrs Darcy might have any number of reasons to keep the note secret from Fitzwilliam. It did not necessarily mean anything sinister. She had seen, seen with her own eyes, how strong Elizabeth's affection for Fitzwilliam was — usually warm and lively, but with what seemed to Georgiana a slow growth of tenderness as well. No. Bad as it looked, it did not mark anything truly bad at heart. Perhaps she was simply embarrassed; if Georgiana had received such a letter, well — well, she would have told Fitzwilliam, but that was different.

_Why?_

She wished she could quash the sharp, critical side of her mind. It was not ladylike at all. Georgiana chewed on her lip.

It could not be the same for Elizabeth, not really. Not after only a year's acquaintance, though he was her husband. After all, Georgiana had looked up to and trusted Fitzwilliam for sixteen years. She knew that he was trustworthy, even if nobody else was.

A new thought flashed into her mind. If she was trying to keep it secret from Fitzwilliam, she clearly did not mean to intercede on the Wickhams' behalf with him. Any aid would come from Mrs Darcy alone.

_Fitzwilliam should know_, she thought, _but perhaps it is not so bad after all. Perhaps everything shall be well._

Georgiana smiled in Elizabeth's general direction and concentrated on her sampler once more.

They were interrupted not long afterwards by the arrival of the Cardwells. Mr Cardwell was properly introduced to Mrs Darcy and the Gardiners; 'you know Mr and Miss Darcy, of course.'

'Of course. It is an honour, sir, ma'am.' He bowed smartly to them both, and quickly made his way to Georgiana's side. She would have wished for a larger party if it had meant other eligible young women to distract him; her fingers shook so badly that she set her sampler down.

'It has been rather a long time since I last saw you, Miss Darcy,' he remarked. 'You were just a child in the schoolroom.'

'Oh — yes,' she stammered. 'Yes, that was rather some time ago.'

'You must be what, seventeen or eighteen by now?'

'Sixteen,' Georgiana said meekly.

'Sixteen!' he exclaimed. 'Why, you are very — tall for your age.' He laughed softly to himself. 'You must have five or six inches at least on Mrs Darcy.'

'Probably,' she agreed, 'Elizabeth has a rather slight build.'

'They are a very striking couple,' he observed. 'Your brother and his wife, I mean.'

'I — I suppose so.'

'They are not at all alike, dark as they are.' He studied the couple with interest. They were carrying on what seemed a very dull conversation with Lord and Lady Cardwell. 'Her skin is so brown, and she has such an air of healthy vigour, not at all the usual. Yes,' —he nodded his head decisively— 'I think she is very pretty, though not really handsome. Your brother is, of course — I have seen statues in Rome that are exactly his likeness. What a remarkable couple.'

Georgiana smiled to herself. 'Yes, they are.'

'Their dispositions do not seem especially similar either.'

'They are not so different, I do not think,' Georgiana said, feeling very brave.

'Oh? In what respects?'

'Well, they are both very clever and strong-willed and forthright.'

Mr Cardwell chuckled. 'That seems quite true. Mrs Darcy rather startles my poor mother.'

_Mrs Darcy rather startles **me**_, Georgiana thought, but said nothing.

'She, however, has such a lively, open manner — your brother is many things, but I would not judge vivacity among them.'

'No,' she agreed, 'he is quiet.'

'A family trait, I think?' He smiled at her with a touch of mischief. 'Forgive me, I should not tease you, even _though_ we are such old friends.'

Georgiana did not consider that tagging along behind Fitzwilliam and Richard and Courtland necessarily made him her friend; she scarcely knew him. He was friendly, but that did not mean anything, except that he was friendly. Perhaps it was natural, or perhaps sheer calculation. She looked away.

'Tell me,' he said, abruptly changing the subject, 'how does my little niece? You were, I believe, at Houghton recently?'

'Yes, to give Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth time alone.'

'I can imagine,' he said; 'they seem very . . . devoted, particularly she. I confess myself surprised.'

Georgiana, though her habitual reserve concealed it, was instantly indignant on her family's behalf. 'Surprised? Whatever for?'

'My dear Miss Darcy, when a man of your brother's consequence marries a girl with only her charms to recommend herself — considerable though they may be — one does not expect the affection to be mainly on her side.'

She lifted her chin. 'I think you misread my brother. He is . . . very fond of his wife, I think he esteems her above anybody. That his feelings are not on display does not mean they do not exist.'

Mr Cardwell laughed. 'Forgive me, madam, I am inapt. I meant no slight to your brother, only that such expressiveness on the part of a lady who makes a splendidly unequal match is quite a novelty.'

'Unequal? Whatever do you mean?' She did not even notice that her clenched fingers were perfectly steady.

'Oh, I did not mean character, only— Your brother could have married an heiress of an hundred thousand pounds; instead, he chose a young lady without a farthing to her name.'

'Yes,' Georgiana said, straightening her form and her eyes flashing as they met his, 'yes, of course he could have traded our pedigree for a great fortune in trade — I am certain _that _would have been a perfectly equal match for Mr Darcy of Pemberley, rather than a respectable gentleman's daughter who loves him.'

She could scarcely believe the words were her own; the moment they left her mouth, she actually gasped aloud, recoiling back, her cheeks burnt scarlet, and quite incapable of even looking towards him. What had she been thinking? She was so horrified, she felt almost physically ill; her head spun, her heart pounded, and she really thought she might faint on the spot.

Georgiana was never so pleased to see Ellis' plain homely face in her life. 'Lady Aldborough, Lord Courtland, Lady Dorothea Willoughby, Mr Willoughby, and Miss Willoughby,' he announced.

Another round of introductions went about the party, the Willoughbys begged pardon for their intrusion and were promptly forgiven. Georgiana quailingly met her brother's eye from across the room, and he promptly walked over and commanded her to walk with him by the window, away from the others.

'Georgiana? Are you unwell?'

She bent her head against his shoulder and took a shuddering breath. 'No, I am perfectly well, thank you— ' she clung to his arm, only then daring to lift her eyes to the landscape before her. It was as beautiful as ever, every tree, rock, and hill covered in a blanket of white, the stream frozen. The rapid pulse of her heart slowed, no longer burning from her fingertips to her chest, and she felt herself able to breathe properly again. Slowly she straightened her back, and smiled, soothed by the scene before her and her brother's silent, reassuring strength beside her. 'Forgive me, sir, I did not mean . . .'

'There is no need to apologise,' he replied; 'did he do something to upset you?'

'No — yes — it is my fault really,' she said incoherently. 'I said something . . . intemperate. I only hope he is not horribly offended.'

'Is that all?' He met her astonished gaze with a smile. 'Intemperate remarks are the order of the day among family, Georgiana; I am certain it will be forgiven. Do you think you are recovered now?'

'Yes, sir.' She managed a smile. 'Thank you.'

'Thank Elizabeth, not me,' he replied, to her astonishment, 'she saw how distressed you looked before I did. You are certain you will be well?'

'Yes, I think so.'

Bewildered but gratified, Georgiana followed him with every appearance of demure modesty, her eyes cast down, and felt almost herself when Fitzwilliam escorted her back to her seat, his forethought extending to a quiet word to Lady Aldborough.

The marchioness seated herself at Georgiana's side, with scarcely a glance for Cardwell. She was about sixty and peculiarly pretty, like a china doll. 'Here you are, Miss Darcy. Why, I have scarcely set eyes on you since you were a child — but you are only now out?'

'Yes ma'am, since this last summer.'

Lady Aldborough nodded to herself. 'I remember my first season — I knew your mother then. Such a handsome girl — you and your brother are very like her, though _you_ have your father's eyes, and something of his face.' She smiled. 'I hope you take every opportunity of enjoying yourself, my dear. This time is for you and such a thing will never come again.'

'I — I shall try,' Georgiana said.

'I am certain you shall. Your brother assures us that you are the most dutiful, sweet-tempered girl in the world.'

Georgiana blushed scarlet.

'Though you may have other cares than dances and young men before long.' Lady Aldborough gave a wispy sort of sigh. 'Mr and Mrs Darcy seem very much in love — they are really quite, quite charming together, one scarcely ever sees anything like it.'

Georgiana turned her eyes to Elizabeth, who sat with her usual easy elegance as she talked to Lady Dorothea and Lord Courtland. Fitzwilliam was standing behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder; during a brief pause in the conversation, his wife turned her head to smile affectionately at him, clasping his fingers before returning her attention to the others.

'That is quite true,' Georgiana said. 'M-my sister Darcy, she is delightful. My brother has made an excellent choice, I think.'

* * *

'Oh! Mr Cardwell!' Georgiana reached out her hand. 'I am so terribly sorry about my behaviour earlier. I hope you may forgive me.' 

He laughed. 'My dear Miss Darcy, there is nothing to forgive; you are perfectly right to defend your family.'

'Not like that,' she said, 'I do not know what was wrong with me, but I assure you it was most unlike me and I shall never speak in such a manner again.'

'Oh, "never" is a dangerous word, Miss Darcy.' He took her offered hand and kissed it. 'I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company very soon.'

'We have always seen a great deal of your mother and father. I daresay you shall.'

The Willoughbys and Cardwells left together; Georgiana, exhausted, received her brother's leave to retreat to her chambers, and she slept through the rest of the calls. The house was silent when she rose again.

'Sarah,' she said, when she saw Mrs Darcy's maid, 'where is everyone?'

'Oh! Miss Darcy!' the girl exclaimed, turning white at the sight of her, and begged her pardon for not seeing her. 'The master is in the library, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner retired about, oh, a half-hour ago. The mistress was in the chapel, the old one, the last I saw.'

Georgiana's brow furrowed, but she shrugged the matter off and softly made her way to the library. She knew she had to explain her behaviour to Fitzwilliam, and besides she needed a new book to read. She could just see the crack of light under the door when a slim figure in white passed by, taking no notice of her in the dimness; it was Mrs Darcy, humming a little to herself. She pushed the door open, leaving it ajar as she swiftly passed through, and Georgiana after a moment of hesitation approached it.

Elizabeth had slipped her arms around her husband, and was leaning against him, one of her hands tangled in his hair, whispering something in his ear. Georgiana instantly withdrew, a smile creeping over her face, and though she was not at all tired, she returned to her room.

She studied the letter she had been reading, then pulled out her own unfinished reply and concluded,

_As for F. & E., believe me, they have no cause to repine; they are truly the happiest people I ever saw in the marriage system and if there is any earthly bliss superior to theirs, I never saw it. I truly have nothing to wish for, except that we all might enjoy a fraction of their good fortune._

_I remain your affectionate cousin,_

_Georgiana Darcy_


	10. Chapter 10

_Last chapter: The Darcys enjoy company after the Twelfth Night ball, including that of Mr Cardwell, who (unbeknownst to him) danced with Georgiana the evening before. She fiercely defends her brother's choice of wife and afterwards nearly faints on the spot._

**Chapter Ten**

The Gardiners left on Saturday, and though Georgiana would not have said so for any thing, she was glad to see the family party restored to Darcys, and only Darcys. She was very fond of her sister's relations, of course, but it was simply not the same. She was always _performing_, always afraid of making some terrible, shameful mistake. With just the three of them, it was different. After all, Fitzwilliam was not even angry over Ramsgate, and nothing she did now could even begin to compare to that.

Now that she was less absorbed in her own fears, she was better able to observe her family, and quickly found herself settling into a pleasant sort of contentment.

Fitzwilliam was everything that was proper and restrained and subtle. His wife was always 'Mrs Darcy' before company and to the servants, and except for a startled blush now and then, he had all his usual poise and composure. Yet there were little things — he never addressed her with anything more familiar than her name, but occasionally, something in his voice turned the long syllables into an endearment. He always rested his hand against her back when they stood together, whether in company or not, and once or twice, Georgiana caught him pressing Elizabeth's fingers against his lips, with a look that made her shiver, even though it was only Fitzwilliam.

Mrs Darcy was, with her easy, affectionate disposition, almost shockingly demonstrative, her face lighting up with pleasure at the sight of her husband, holding his arm tightly against her when they walked together, stealing kisses to his astonishment as well as his sister's, and sometimes simply watching him with unreserved enjoyment, though only when he was oblivious to the attention. She seemed delighted by all those things which Georgiana had never known to be grateful for, often sang in her clear light voice without fear, enjoying what seemed the most imperturbable good humour imaginable. She was such a happy person, her usual conversation punctuated by gaiety and endearments. Georgiana, as she slowly grew accustomed to her sister's ways, found her own spirits lifted by the sparkling merriment of her sister-in-law's, and she realised that Fitzwilliam's moods, too, were lighter as well, though no less tranquil. And above all, Elizabeth was always, always laughing. Though usually it was the laughter of joy and happiness, Elizabeth also laughed at people — not with that unpleasant sort of raillery that Georgiana sometimes heard, but genuine amusement and pleasure in folly and whimsicality — even at Fitzwilliam.

On one early occasion, she knew she had not been quite able to hide her immediate, instinctive alarm.

'Oh, I _have_ shocked you,' Mrs Darcy said, her eyes dancing. 'I hope you will forgive my impertinence, Georgiana.'

'I . . . I . . .' She could see not the slightest hint of malice or displeasure (or penitence) in her sister-in-law's mobile face. 'It is not for me to . . . I have no right — ' she stammered. 'Fitzwilliam does not mind,' she managed to say, more clearly, 'and that is all that matters.'

Elizabeth looked at her more seriously, then set her work aside. 'Come walk with me, Georgiana.'

Uncertainly, she acquiesced, knowing that she had no right to any special consideration on her sister-in-law's part. She shortened her step to match Elizabeth's, her head bent a little.

'I think I am beginning to recover my sanity,' Elizabeth began. Georgiana blinked; the smaller woman laughed. 'Forgive me — what a beginning! I only meant . . .' Her eyes travelled about the hall, a trace of wonder still there. 'I am afraid I have been terribly preoccupied, between Christmas, Pemberley, and . . .' a slow smile crept over her face — 'and your brother.'

Georgiana's brow contracted.

'Do you know, you look almost _exactly_ like him when you do that? It is quite uncanny. In any case, yes, your brother. I . . . oh,' a quick smile flashed across her face, 'I have done everything backwards. I learnt to respect him, esteem him, love him, and then fell into infatuation. Truly, I have hardly been able to keep a thought in my head.'

Georgiana could not conceal her scepticism at such a description of her clever sister-in-law, who laughed.

'Oh, very well — but not _many_. I have been selfishly preoccupied with your brother and with my own happiness, and have not paid you the attention you deserve.'

Georgiana scarcely knew what to say. She turned her head away, a little.

'And,' Elizabeth went on, her tone firming, 'I would not wish you to be distressed in your own home. What your brother thinks is not quite all that matters here.'

'I am not — I was not distressed,' Georgiana said, finding her voice and her courage. 'I was only startled — I cannot imagine speaking to Fitzwilliam as you do, not ever.'

'I should hope not!' Elizabeth met her astonished gaze with a cheerful smile. 'My dear Georgiana, Fitzwilliam would never permit you to speak to him as I do — and quite rightly so, I might add. He is your brother and your guardian; such behaviour would be completely inappropriate from you. You must understand — a woman may take liberties with her husband that a man will not allow from a sister more than ten years younger than he is.'

Georgiana frowned, mulling this over.

'At least, a woman well married may,' Elizabeth continued, her eyes drifting over the faces of Darcy men and women, fathers and sons and wives and sisters. 'The first thing I admired about your brother — after his eyes — ' Georgiana giggled nervously — 'was that no matter how much I teased and challenged him — and believe me, I did — he never seemed remotely discomposed, let alone threatened. Well, it was infuriating, really, but also . . . pleasant.'

'Infuriating? Whatever for?'

Elizabeth looked up at Lady Alexandra Darcy, Georgiana's grandmother. 'I was always so clever,' she said slowly. 'Cleverer than anybody, except my father, and I knew it perfectly well; he never attempted to hide his preference for me, or the reasons for it. I understood that nobody I had ever known was truly my equal. Then — I met your brother.' She laughed again, this time with a rather sharp edge. 'And he dismissed me out of hand, with scarcely a look. I wanted nothing more than to find him unworthy even of contempt.'

She turned to face Georgiana, who was too shocked to even gasp, with a wry smile. 'I behaved very badly, I assure you — I am quite a vain creature! I was so intent on convincing myself that he was truly unworthy, that the fault was in him, not in me, that I was just as pretty and clever and sensible and generally wonderful as I had always believed myself to be — ' she shrugged, looking remarkably unperturbed. 'Yet despite everything — I cannot recall that we ever agreed on any subject -- there was always a sort of, of affinity between us, and yes, it i_nfuriated_ me because I could never quite dismiss him when, in a way, he treated me with more consideration than anyone else ever had.'

'I — I had no idea,' Georgiana stammered.

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. 'The vagaries of our courtship need not bother you, Georgiana; I am simply trying to say, not very articulately, that the only sort of man worth _your_ consideration is one who treats you as a rational creature, not an elegant lady to be coddled and patronised.'

Georgiana tilted her head to the side, considering. 'I do not think, either, that I could talk to anybody as you do Fitzwilliam,' she said, her heart pounding. She wanted Elizabeth to like her, she really did, but she could not say something untrue, even the thought of it made her almost ill.

Elizabeth smiled. 'Your disposition is not mine, Georgiana, and I can assure you that most men do not care to be teased and laughed at. Even Fitzwilliam is just now learning.'

Georgiana, who knew perfectly well that her brother 's closest companions had almost always been cheerful, light-hearted people like her cousin Richard, who admired him immensely and teased him mercilessly, would not contradict her and could not agree. She smiled, but did not dare reply.

* * *

'Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy,' said Farley awkwardly, 'the master wants you in the study.'

Elizabeth and Georgiana looked at one another in surprise. Such a peremptory command was very unlike Fitzwilliam, but there was nothing else to be done; they set aside their work and followed the servant.

Fitzwilliam was standing in a shaft of chilly sunlight, his face turned away from the window and a letter held loosely in one hand. His expression was as grim as Georgiana had seen it for a very long time.

'Is something wrong?' Elizabeth enquired as soon as Farley had left.

'Fitzwilliam? Are you well?' Georgiana said at the same time.

'Oh,' he said, with a sharp, brittle laugh, '_I_ am perfectly well, thank you. However, I do not believe our cousin and his — ' his mouth twisted — '_companion _could say the same.' He made a casual gesture. 'Come, Milton, do you lack the _decorum_ to so much as enquire after your cousins' health?'

In their concern for Fitzwilliam, neither Georgiana nor Elizabeth had noticed the couple standing in the corner opposite him. Milton was very much himself, despite the obvious lack of care he had taken in his appearance, but the woman with him was not Diana, but rather somebody Georgiana had never set eyes on. She was very small, probably three or four inches shorter than Elizabeth, plain, with a grossly swollen belly.

'Darcy, this is not the time for niceties,' he snarled. 'You must — '

'With all due respect, _cousin_, you would do well to remember whose home you have so cavalierly made your own,' Fitzwilliam replied, very softly. Georgiana swallowed, and retracted her earlier judgment of her brother's temper. She had never seen him like this. Milton seemed to realise something similar, and cut his own reply short.

Elizabeth's dark eyes flickered between the two men; then, she walked towards the woman and said graciously,

'Miss Martin, you must be exhausted. Your clothes are sodden. Come, we will take you upstairs, get you some warm clothes, something to eat,— ' As they left, Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and gave Fitzwilliam one long, serious look. He nodded.

Georgiana was still attempting to understand the silent interchange when they reached one of the empty rooms. Miss Martin was shivering violently and scarcely seemed to realise where she was or who she was with. It was some minutes before they managed to get her dressed, wrapped in blankets, with some hot soup before her.

Georgiana, feeling awkward and useless, stood a little apart. She knew who Miss Martin was, of course — Kate told her all the servants' gossip, wherever they went, and in any case she'd heard enough with her own ears to surmise what it meant — but she'd never thought to actually see her, especially not with Fitzwilliam so angry about it. Georgiana glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. So this was what an adulteress looked like? She was nothing like she had imagined.

'Thank you, Mrs Darcy,' Miss Martin said in a tired voice, pushing the remnants of her meal away and lying down. 'I hope your husband is not terribly distressed by our arrival.'

Elizabeth looked at her a moment. 'He is,' she said, and had a servant take the rest away. 'Would you like some more blankets, or are you warm enough?'

Miss Martin gave a peculiar smile and opened her eyes just enough to glance sideways at Elizabeth. 'I would like another, if it is no inconvenience.'

'Of course not,' Elizabeth replied briskly. 'Georgiana — '

'Oh! I beg your pardon. I hope this helps, Miss Martin.'

'Thank you.' She lay on her side, curling her legs and wrapping an arm around her belly. Georgiana, knowing nothing else to do, remained where she was and tried not to gawk at her as if she were some rare breed of animal. She glanced uncertainly at Elizabeth, who had briefly turned away, to all appearances examining her watch.

And she recognised something in her face that she would never have associated with her merry sister-in-law. Elizabeth was _furious_.

Georgiana swallowed. She felt confused and ignorant, and the silence seemed to press on her, even once Elizabeth turned back around with a politely neutral smile on her face.

'You do not approve, do you?' Miss Martin said, her voice utterly dispassionate.

'No. Would you like another pillow?'

Georgiana took a firm step backwards, away from the woman on the bed. If Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were both angry, there must be very good reason for it.

'I have done nothing wrong. You have no — ' her teeth chattered a bit — 'no right to — to — '

'Georgiana, get Miss Martin another blanket.' She hastily obeyed, and just as hastily stepped back. Elizabeth looked down on Milton's mistress with mingled pity and contempt. 'I am very sorry for the situation you find yourself in, but you have no right to come into my home and tell me what I may or may not think.'

Miss Martin's only response was to turn her head away, instead gazing at Georgiana, who could hardly bear to look at the hectic brightness of her cheeks and eyes.

'Are you frightened of me, Miss Darcy? Or is it simply that your delicate sensibilities are affonted?' She coughed deep in her throat. 'If Edward is to be believed, we have a great deal in common, you and I.'

'Georgiana,' Elizabeth said sharply, 'go downstairs and join your brother. I can manage Miss Martin on my own.'

Georgiana fled with Miss Martin's weary laughter ringing in her ears.


	11. Chapter 11

_Last chapter: Georgiana observes her brother's happy marriage, and talks with Elizabeth about the sort of man a self-respecting woman should marry. Their idyll is, however, interrupted by the arrival of Darcy's cousin, Lord Milton, and his feverish, very pregnant mistress, who -- to quote an esteemed reader -- is very snippy indeed for a doxy, and suggests to the incredulous Georgiana that she has heard something that implies they are not that different. Elizabeth sends Georgiana downstairs posthaste._

**Chapter Eleven**

Georgiana's heart was pounding in her ears when she reached her brother's study. She dashed a few scalding tears off her cheek, composed herself, and knocked.

'Fitzwilliam?' she called. 'Elizabeth said to come downstairs . . .' Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

'Come in,' he replied. Georgiana slipped in, looking from her brother to her cousin. Milton was in Fitzwilliam's chair, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. He appeared utterly dejected. Fitzwilliam seemed more exhausted than anything else right now, though she doubted anyone but herself or Elizabeth would have seen it. In the set of his mouth and shoulders, however, she could perceive hints of resentment, even as he rested his hand reassuringly on Milton's slumped shoulder for a moment.

'I — Fitzwilliam — does — does he know? about _him?_' She knew it was ill-bred to speak of her cousin as if he were not present, but she could think of no other way.

Milton lifted his drawn, pale face, staring at her. 'What are you speaking of, Georgiana?'

'No,' Fitzwilliam said, frowning. 'Why should you think so? Did something happen?'

She sat down, staring down at her hands. 'It was something Miss Martin said. She said that he — that is, that you, cousin — had said something . . .'

Fitzwilliam glanced at their cousin, his expression at once angry and bewildered. Then it smoothed away as if he had not lost his composure for an instant.

'Georgy,' Milton said in a voice raspy from weariness and disuse, 'how is she? Is Hannah . . . is she . . . well?'

Georgiana suppressed a shiver and replied, 'I would not say . . . well, exactly. She was very cold, and she talked — rather oddly, I think. Though I would not know how she usually is.' She did not think so ill of her cousin's judgment as to suppose he would really love someone who was that — well, awful — all the time. Even Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst —

Milton groaned. 'The fever, I suppose.'

'Fever?' Fitzwilliam spun on his heel. 'How long has she been ill?'

'A little over a fortnight.'

He muttered something under his breath and wrote a short note, and sent for Farley to deliver it.

'Is there any particular reason you did nothing?'

'I tried,' Milton protested, but weakly. 'The first doctor was an utter quack — she only got worse. And then there was no money.'

'Oh, of course — your financial troubles,' Fitzwilliam murmured. 'I had quite forgotten.' Milton refused to look at him, though he did sit up properly. 'And your father — '

'I brought her to Houghton, and — '

'I beg your pardon? You brought your mistress under the same roof as your wife? Have you taken leave of your senses?'

'I had to do something! What other choice did I have?'

'Do not raise your voice in my house,' Fitzwilliam said coldly. 'Did you consider laying the whole of the situation before my uncle?'

'No, and I am glad I did not,' Milton snapped. 'The instant he discovered Hannah's presence, he threw us both out. We are in disgrace. I knew if we came to Pemberley . . .' He stopped, flushing a little. Georgiana at once pitied him and was glad to see that he had _some_ shame left.

'Ah, yes — Pemberley. I was hoping the story, highly diverting though it is, would wind around to some sort of explanation for your intrusion.'

Georgiana knew, then, that her brother was not only upset, but that he had very thoroughly lost his temper. He looked composed, but there was colour burnt high along his cheekbones, and he spoke with an unfamiliar harsh, sharp edge in his voice. She suppressed a shiver. She had only seen her brother angry a few times in her entire life, but it was never pleasant, even though she had never been the object of it. She would not have traded places with her cousin for anything in the world.

'She needs a doctor,' Milton said. 'I knew you would not turn us away; I knew that your wife, at least, would see that Hannah is properly cared for, until — '

'I see.' Fitzwilliam's mouth twitched into a faint, sardonic smile, but Georgiana did not think he was remotely amused. 'Your clever idea was to use my own family feeling against me. How charming.'

'And if it was the woman you loved, what would you have done?' Milton demanded.

Fitzwilliam laughed softly and humourlessly. 'It must have escaped your notice, Milton. I _married_ the woman I love.' He turned away then, calling for a maidservant. 'Addison, his lordship is quite tired. Please escort him to his room.'

'Yes, sir.'

Milton opened his mouth, then after a glance at his cousins, shut it again, following the maid out with a defeated expression. Fitzwilliam sat down, leaning back and lifting one hand to rub his temples. Georgiana approached him timidly, and reached out to press her fingers against his; he looked startled, but smiled.

'You see what a brutal temper your brother has, Georgiana,' he said, his fingers icy cold against hers.

'Milton deserved it,' she told him stubbornly. 'He may have been desperate but it was still very wrong of him.'

'My dear Georgiana — _semper eadem_.' He leant on their clasped hands one moment, then straightened, tightening his grip before releasing her hand, withdrawing a little.

'That was Queen Elizabeth's motto, was it not?'

'Yes, it was, although I rather think it suits you better.' His eyes crinkled around the corners.

Their own Elizabeth's voice rang out. 'Did I hear you two talking about me?' She stepped past the doorway; she, too, seemed tired.

'No, in fact. I was just admiring Georgiana's constancy,' Fitzwilliam replied, a smile warming his face and erasing the weary, angry lines of before.

'You are right to help,' Georgiana said, 'but he was wrong to come.'

'Quite,' Elizabeth said. 'I only hope that woman behaves differently when she is not feverish — if not, I shall have to question your cousin's sanity.'

Georgiana suppressed a giggle, then thought over the brief, unpleasant scene again. Her brow furrowed. 'I do not understand what she meant at all,' she confessed.

Elizabeth shot an uneasy glance at Fitzwilliam. 'She knows that you know,' he told her.

'I do?' Georgiana blinked.

'You remember, I told you, when I ret — last spring.'

'Oh!' _Georgiana_, he'd said, not just his usual quiet self, but sombre and melancholy, _I had good reason to believe that a — a respectable, virtuous young lady had formed an attachment to Mr Wickham. **You** know —_ he stopped, took a breath, then continued, _I felt obliged to warn her, and she had been so misled by his appearance of goodness — he had, it seemed, told her any number of falsehoods — that I knew she would not be persuaded of his true character unless I told her all. I hope —_ he looked away — _I hope you may forgive me for having done that much without reference to you._ And, overflowing with compassion for that unknown young lady, Georgiana instantly denied any necessity for penitence.

'That was — you?' She stared at her sister-in-law. She had felt herself so silly and vain for having been fooled by Mr Wickham — but if Elizabeth had been attached to him, had made something like the same error that Georgiana herself had — either she was not so foolish after all, or Elizabeth was just as bad as she was.

Georgiana's head hurt. 'Milton does not know,' she said, her head spinning.

'What did she say to you?' Fitzwilliam asked intently. 'What does it have to do with what happened at Ramsgate?'

Georgiana's eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She wished suddenly for Narcissus.

Elizabeth spoke, instead, her voice softer than what Georgiana was accustomed to hearing from her — 'She asked Georgiana if her — if her sensibilities were offended, and then said that they — she and Georgiana — were not so different, from what "Edward" — Lord Milton, I presume? — had told her.'

'That is his Christian name,' Fitzwilliam admitted, 'though I have never heard anyone use it. As for the other — no, I swore Richard to secrecy, and never spoke of it to anyone but you, not even Eleanor. I cannot image how he could have discovered it.'

Elizabeth seemed at once perplexed and pleased. 'What would he have told her, then? Was it simply the fever talking?'

'It cannot be anything you have done, Georgiana,' Fitzwilliam said, 'she might mean simply as a Fitzwilliam — '

'I do not think so,' Elizabeth replied, 'she seemed very particularly — Fitzwilliam, what is it?' Georgiana looked at her brother in alarm; he was staring at something in the distance, his eyes black against his whitened face.

He got to his feet. 'Please excuse me, both of you — I have to go — and think. Elizabeth, watch over Georgiana — she should not be alone with that woman — no, not in her company at all. I beg your pardon.' He was gone before either young lady could utter a word; they simply stared at one another in astonishment.

'Tell me, is he often like this?' Elizabeth enquired, with an arch smile.

'No,' Georgiana said blankly, 'no, never. Do you have any idea what he thought of?'

'I? No — I was about to ask you; you must know more about the family than I do, if indeed that is what — ' Then she tilted her head to the side, looking startled. 'I do not know — perhaps, it is possible that — ' She chewed on her lip, then said decidedly, 'That is enough of that for now. I do not think I can sit an instant longer. Will you walk with me, Georgiana?'

Half-curious and half-frightened, Georgiana assented, and her sister-in-law made easy conversation as they walked down the Long Gallery. The portrait that Lord Ancaster had returned before the wedding was restored to its proper place, beside her father, and as Georgiana allowed the long ramble of family history to calm her nerves, she found her eyes resting on her mother.

'She was very beautiful,' she said wistfully. 'I wish I were more like her.'

Elizabeth replied, 'I was just thinking that there is quite a remarkable resemblance between you.'

'Really?' Georgiana felt, for a moment, as if she could see what Elizabeth did — a pale, oval face, straight nose, and heavy dark hair. Yes, those was hers, and they were from her mother, though she was her father's child too, more than Fitzwilliam.

'It is odd, that you both should be so unlike the Darcys — but you have your father's eyes.'

'Yes.' Georgiana looked from her own painted eyes, to her father's and aunt's and grandfather's — 'Yes, we all do, except Fitzwilliam. Even Courtland has them.'

'Lord Courtland? Is he a Darcy?'

'Yes — a distant uncle of ours, mine and Fitzwilliam's, was a younger son, adopted by his mother's family, and Courtland is his descendant. That was generations and generations ago, of course. We are not really very near relations, though the nearest in the direct line. Fitzwilliam told me once that if he had not barred the entailment when he came of age, Courtland would have been his heir instead of me — though I hope I shan't be for very long. It would be awful; I suppose my husband could change his name, but there have always been proper heirs.'

'Well, let us hope I take after my mother then,' Elizabeth said cheerfully, turning away from Lady Anne and George Darcy. 'Tell me, who is that woman there?'

'Oh,' Georgiana said, glad to change the subject, 'that is my great-grandmother, Georgiana Elizabeth. My father and I were named for her.'

Elizabeth took a step closer. 'Why, she looks positively merry! How very improper.'

Georgiana allowed herself to laugh, then said, 'That is her husband, Francis Darcy; Fitzwilliam admires him very much. Francis was very devoted to her — his family opposed the match tooth and nail, but they managed to reconcile them, and were married. My great-uncle Sir James, you met him, he is their son.'

'How remarkable,' Elizabeth said, studying the portrait. 'Why did his family disapprove of her? Did she smile too much?'

'No, she was just a provincial baronet's daughter,' Georgiana said thoughtlessly, then gasped, covering up her mouth. 'Oh! I am so sorry, I did not mean — '

Elizabeth laughed. 'I understand your family's censure, Georgiana; I do not agree, but I know perfectly well that in material terms, I am an astonishingly bad match for him.'

'I — I think, from what I have heard, and read — there are letters, Fitzwilliam lets me look at them — that Francis' family was very fond of him too.'

Elizabeth gazed at her a moment, then smiled. 'I am glad to hear it.' 


	12. Chapter 12

_Last chapter: Georgiana returns downstairs in time to hear Milton's explanation for his arrival, which the furious Darcy finds quite offensive. She discovers that Milton does not know of Ramsgate and so certainly did not tell Miss Martin of it -- she must be referring to something else. Georgiana also discovers that the anonymous young lady that had, according to Darcy, been attached to Wickham was, in fact, her sister-in-law Elizabeth. Suddenly Darcy seems to realise something, and hastily leaves for a walk outside. Georgiana and Elizabeth walk into the gallery; Elizabeth might know what Darcy thought of, but refuses to say, and they talk of the last Darcy love-match, that of Francis and Georgiana Elizabeth Darcy._

**Chapter Twelve**

After Elizabeth went upstairs to rest for a few hours, Georgiana found herself at something of a loss. Fitzwilliam had not yet returned; she fretted a little, for he must be getting quite cold — but of course he knew what he was doing. He would return when he needed to.

She could not seem to concentrate on anything; she tried playing her harp, reading her lessons, even reading Mrs Edgeworth's new novel, but to no avail. Her mind continued to leap from thought to thought — wondering what was happening, what she did not know about herself, but even more than that, the discovery that Elizabeth had been misled by Wickham.

_Now_ she knew what Fitzwilliam had meant on Christmas Eve. If he had been in love with her by spring, but knew, somehow, that she was attached to Wickham — Georgiana shuddered at the thought. He had been a little different after returning from his visit at Lady Catherine's, quieter, even melancholy — and melancholy was very unlike Fitzwilliam. Once or twice he had been sharp with people (never Georgiana), until out of nowhere, it seemed, he had quarrelled fiercely with Milton. And sometimes, she thought, he seemed rather bewildered at his own behaviour. She, of course, saw all those little things that others would not, because she saw him so much more frequently than anybody, and though he was mostly just as he had always been with her, she knew he was unhappy and it made her miserable. She was sure it was her fault, that he must be angry and resentful of having such an ungrateful, spoilt sister — but now, _now_ she knew it was not that at all.

Georgiana bit her lip. For a moment, she had felt a flicker of anger, that Elizabeth had believed Wickham over Fitzwilliam and made him unhappy — but she instantly knew it was unjust. She, after all, had done the same. And Fitzwilliam _was not_ wrong about Elizabeth, he could not be. She was still the same person Georgiana had thought her. Merry, charming, clever, impulsive. A sort of wiser, more sensible, more thoughtful Cecily. What had he said? That she would have to ask Elizabeth herself about errors she had made?

Georgiana shuddered at the thought. She would quite gladly never hear That Man's name again, as long as she lived, though she knew it was impossible. And Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam — and Georgiana, too — they had all been so happy lately. She had felt as if the breaks and chasms in her family were finally healing over — and that was not just Elizabeth, but she was _part_ of it. And that was worth having to acknowledge Wickham's existence occasionally.

A smile trembled on her lips as she walked. For a moment, she tried to look at the world around her as Elizabeth, or the Gardiners, must see it — not simply as home, but a grand, ancient house with all the centuries of Darcy footsteps echoing around her. She shivered. There was a sort of comforting weight in the knowledge that she stood where so many of her fathers and aunts had.

By now, she was back at the great portrait gallery, surrounded by the images of those people, along with the other art that the various masters of Pemberley had collected. Feeling quite daring, Georgiana ignored the masters and mistresses, but examined the others who had been, like she herself, mere daughters and sisters. There was Aunt Helen — she had married a French marquis, some incredibly distant cousin, and was killed with him before Georgiana was born. Then there was Lady Alston, with all her splendid laces and silks — another only daughter. Here was her great-grandaunt Bella — she had been the eldest of three sisters. Who had she married? Oh, the Blythes' heir — there were letters to her mother, Lady Isabella, congratulating her on Miss Darcy's fine match. Katherine Darcy, wearing the same shade of yellow that Elizabeth favoured, had snared a minor duke.

No, that was not the right word — she had not _snared_ him, not pursued him at all. Georgiana frowned, studying Katherine's portrait. She did not remember exactly, but she and Fitzwilliam had once laughed together over one of Sir David's letters, in which he gleefully reported that his proud sister had brought her suitor down a few notches. She only consented to marry him because — no, she did not love him, but she and her family finally decided he was worthy of her, even if his ancestors had once been Scottish sheep farmers. She remembered asking Fitzwilliam in her childish voice, _Were they happy?_ and he, looking pensive, said, _In a manner of speaking._ They had been friends rather than lovers, she later discovered, and as far as anyone knew quite content with each other's discreet infidelity.

Georgiana thought of them, the Miss Darcys that had gone before, staring down at her from their place on the wall. All had married well — all of them mistresses of grand estates and wives of powerful landowners. Some lived in quiet seclusion on their husbands' estates, some were socially influential ladies of the _ton_, some were gay and flighty, some sober and intellectual. Yet one and all, they had lived with the same expectations that Georgiana did now. Aunt Helen married reluctantly, Aunt Bella married a man who wrote to her, _I love thee, sweetheart, and yearn for thee, more than heart may tell_, Lady Alston did not care one way or another and married out of prudent inclination alone.

She smiled. Right now, the burden of being Miss Darcy of Pemberley was not a weight at all. Had not all the others managed to live with the expectations upon them? Surely among all these people, there was one young girl who felt just as nervous and insignificant as Georgiana did? After all, who said duty and inclination must oppose each other? Well, plenty of people, but who said they were right?

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would look after her, she thought. Fitzwilliam could frighten away the unworthy at thirty paces, and Elizabeth . . . well, she was Elizabeth. As long as Georgiana was with them, there was nothing to fear. Except dancing.

Georgiana laughed to herself, or perhaps at herself, then stopped when she heard the familiar sharp rap of boots against the floor.

'Fitzwilliam?' she cried, spinning around and hurrying towards him. He smiled at her; he seemed much less weary, though still quite grim.

'Georgiana.' He kissed her cheek. 'Where is Elizabeth?'

'Upstairs — she was tired.'

'Ah, I see.' He took her arm. 'What were you doing here?'

'Nothing in particular,' she said, leaning on him, 'just walking, and thinking.'

'Not about that woman's scurrilous accusation, I hope?'

'No,' she replied, startled. 'I was not thinking of that, at all — rather about family, and history, and being . . . myself.' She wet her lip, then gathered her courage, even as she felt the familiar dizziness and her heart pounding in her ears. 'Fitzwilliam, what is it? Do you know . . . do you know what she meant? Elizabeth said — she thought I might know, but then she thought of something but said she could not say until she talked to you.'

'Yes, I know.' He hesitated. 'Would you like Elizabeth to be here?'

To her surprise, she did, but she said, 'No — I mean, I do not think we should wake her up, but I want to know. What did I do, that she could think — '

'You? Nothing at all.' He stopped, turning to look around with a contemplative expression. A dead silence fell as brother and sister stood alone, surrounded by their ancestors. _There are no more_, she thought. Nobody else carried the name, except their great-uncle and -aunt, who might die any day; they were last of their line. She shivered.

'She was not really referring to you,' he said finally. 'She was referring to our family.'

She frowned. 'I — you mean that . . . I do not understand.'

He turned away, his eyes fixed on their mother's portrait. 'You do not remember Mother, and you certainly do not remember her death. You do not remember what Father was like before she died, and you do not remember what I was like. You were barely four years old. You had just learnt to say our names properly.' Georgiana swallowed. 'I am going to speak to you honestly, Georgiana, about our family.'

'What do you mean? Surely you have not been dishonest?'

'No; yet I have not told you the whole truth — and I do not regret it. But you are older now, and it does . . . I think it will help you to understand.'

She easily caught the strain in his voice, and reached out her hand to his. 'Fitzwilliam?'

'What we would call profligate was "indiscreet" for people then; Father was only remarkable for being so fundamentally _good_ — warm-hearted, compassionate, with an easy, open temper, a great natural liking for other people, and many other fine qualities. Mother's disposition could not have been more different. She was obstinate, clever, headstrong, temperamental, and though she liked him she did not approve of him, and accepted his overtures primarily out of duty to her family. She was always proud of being a Fitzwilliam, but she was also never blind to the fact that they had not been completely respectable since — well, since they lost their fortune and regained it. She saw her marriage to my father as a chance to gain the old respect her family once garnered — which it was.'

'I thought they were — infatuated,' Georgiana said hesitatingly.

'He was. Yet he could not break her indifference and tired of it soon enough. They lived together, that was all, his interest quickly went elsewhere.' She caught her breath. 'Her pride made it even worse to bear; it was utterly degrading for her, and my father could never understand it, he could not understand what it was like for her — she, the favourite of every body in an unusually affectionate family, had no preparation for what was expected of her. In any case, one winter, when their only surviving child was eight, there was a terrible epidemic at Pemberley. Mother fell deeply ill, Alexandra died, and Father mistook her reserve for indifference.'

Georgiana flinched. Her brother said,

'A common enough mistake. You and I have both had that accusation leveled at us a few too many times to easily tolerate it. In any case, they quarrelled bitterly and often. Father turned more and more to business, to his responsibilities, the poor and the ill and others who depended upon his consideration. Mother— ' he sighed. 'Her misery at the time, I believe, was the worst she ever suffered. The forlorn state of a neglected woman often rouses that species of pity, which is so near akin, it easily slides into love. A man of feeling thinks not of seducing, he is himself seduced by the noblest emotions of his soul.'

Georgiana looked at him, a frisson of — not fear, but horror, running through her. 'Fitzwilliam, she did not — did she?'

'Yes,' he said shortly. 'She did.'

'Poor Mama,' she whispered. 'I never knew, I never guessed, nobody ever said — '

'It is not something one ought to speak to a child of. Mother — she was unhappy, and lonely, and, for all her pride, I do not think she held anyone in as much contempt as she did herself. And she desperately wanted children. I survived, none of the others did. So there was always a constant loss. She wanted a daughter. As for myself,— I — Mother's entanglement with Lord Stephen — '

'Lord Stephen? Lord Stephen Willoughby — Lord Courtland's uncle?'

'It was rather awkward for us.' Distantly, he added, 'they loved each other — it was quite dreadful.'

'Love should not be dreadful,' Georgiana said.

'No. It should not.' He took a deep breath. 'In any case, I was from a very early age — ' his eyes left hers as he searched for words. 'I was aware of much of what was — transpiring.' He returned his gaze to meet her own. 'I do not know if you, or anyone, can possibly comprehend what your — your mere existence meant to me.'

Georgiana flushed. 'You were just a little boy.'

'Yes — a sullen, lonely, often angry boy, at that,' he said flatly. 'You cannot understand, Georgiana, the difference after you were born. I loved Father but we were always quite distant, when we were not estranged altogether, while Mother was . . . there was nothing I could do for her, I was a powerless child.' He shook his head. 'I appointed myself your protector before you were born. I could do nothing for Mother, but you — I was one of the fussiest brothers who ever lived, I am sure. Especially after Mother died. I lived with Lady Catherine and my uncle, and I was furious at Father for separating us.'

A gentle smile curved her lips. 'I remember — I hardly saw you when I was small, you were there and then you were not. But you always wrote.'

'Yes. I promised I would.'

She stared at him quizzically. 'I do not remember that.'

'You were very small. Four or five. I had stayed at Pemberley for some months. You were — you followed me everywhere, like a duckling.'

She winced.

'I am sorry.'

'No. It must have been amusing.'

'Richard thought so.' He bit his lip. 'In any case, I rushed h— back to Houghton when our grandfather died. You hardly knew him, so you could not understand why I was leaving you again, and "so soon." I promised I would write every week that we were not together. Although I returned home not much later, it became a sort of tradition.'

'I always looked forward to your letters at school. I always knew they would come.' She looked down. 'But even then, I never knew — I thought — well, that you wrote more out of duty than affection.' Her voice suddenly seemed loud in the quiet room.

He laughed shortly. 'You know what I think about that, Georgiana; there is no disentangling duty and affection. For many years I thought of your coming out with horror. I was certain that any man with sense would see your worth and take you away from me.'

Georgiana stared at him. His cheeks were flushed. She knew he must be terribly embarrassed to speak so, though she did not doubt his honesty for a moment. 'Fitzwilliam, I— ' _Something_ must be said, but she felt as if she had nothing to give in return. 'I never knew.' A dim memory came to her. 'I was angry at the family once,' she said. 'I do not remember why, except that they wanted something from you and you seemed so tired all the time. I asked Richard why they would not leave you alone and he laughed at me. He said you did not want that, that you liked being useful, like Aunt Catherine.'

He flinched, then straightened, his expression hardening. 'That is true enough, though sometimes they fail to draw a sharp enough distinction between being useful and being used.'

She blinked, her eyes widening. His voice gentled. 'That is, however, quite beside the point. This — do you see where we came from, you and I? And you particularly — '

Georgiana stood very still, and tightened her fingers around Fitzwilliam's. She felt as if, despite all the revelations, there was something more, something _she_ was supposed to understand, but that he would not say. She turned her head to look at her father, at the man he had been. His easy smile, gentle features, even the curly hair and fashionable attire, they were all more like Wickham than she or her brother. How different were they, really, the father she had loved and the heartless man who had taken advantage of her? Was it honesty alone?

Yet amidst all of the differences, _there_ were the sharp high cheekbones she saw in her brother's face and her own reflection, the tie to each other and to their line. She loosened her grip on his hand, and stepped closer, meeting Mr Darcy's bright gaze. She could remember the conversation of merely a few hours ago.

_'It is odd, that you both should be so unlike the Darcys — but you have your father's eyes.'_

_'Yes . . . yes, we all do, except Fitzwilliam. Even Courtland . . .'  
_  
And then the glimmerings of understanding flashed into sudden comprehension. Georgiana flushed cold. 'Fitzwilliam,' she said shakily, 'was — was Lord Stephen, the man that Mother loved — when did they — how did their relationship end?'

Quite simply, he said, 'Mother died.'

'Did he resemble his nephew very much?' She pressed her hands against her abdomen. 'Fitzwilliam?'

'No. Only a little, around the eyes.' He reached out his hand to her shoulder. 'Georgiana — '

She spun to face him. 'Was he my father?' Her voice went sharp and high.

He was silent; then he said, 'Mr Darcy was your father. He acknowledged you, he brought you up — '

Her eyes burned, but her cheeks remained dry when she cried out, '_You_ brought me up, Fitzwilliam. Not F — not Mr Darcy.'

'He loved you, Georgiana,' Fitzwilliam said harshly. 'Just as Mother did, and I.'

'Did Lord Stephen?'

'Yes.'

She stared at the portrait. 'Please tell me, Fitzwilliam. Am I . . .' She swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she say it? Mr Darcy, his faults notwithstanding, had been the most affectionate, generous father in the world. He deserved a father's honour from her.

Fitzwilliam looked at her, met her eyes with his own. 'I do not know. Nobody ever knew, and nobody cared — the Willoughbys are the nearest in Father's line, you were a Darcy and a Fitzwilliam and my mother's daughter and that was all that mattered.'

Georgiana turned her head away, into her brother's shoulder, though she could not weep. After a moment, he stroked her smooth dark hair. She said in a muffled voice, 'I do not like Miss Martin.'


	13. Chapter 13

_Last chapter: Georgiana goes down the gallery and thinks about being Miss Darcy, but when her brother returns, discovers the possibility that Mr Darcy was not her father at all, but rather Lord Stephen Willoughby, uncle of her brother's friend-cum-distant cousin Lord Courtland. To her family, however, this is a matter of little significance, and particularly to her brother, who tells her rather more of growing up at Pemberley with his adversarial parents, and how much she, unknowingly, changed that.  
_

**Chapter Thirteen**

After so much excitement, Georgiana was fully prepared to crawl into her bed and sleep for ten hours; Fitzwilliam walked with her to the great staircase before returning to his estate duties. As she slowly made her way to her chamber, her steps were heavy and her lids drooping.

However, halfway down the hall, she heard muffled sobs. Georgiana stopped, staring at the door from which the sounds emerged. It was Miss Martin's room, and for a moment, she was very much inclined to leave her to her distress. After all, she'd had no compunctions about distressing _Georgiana_, had she?

Nevertheless, her better instincts prevailed, and she sighed, paying the other woman the courtesy of knocking before she opened the door and stepped in.

Miss Martin was lying in exactly the same position as when Georgiana had last seen her — on her side, one arm curled around her belly. Her face was pressed into a pillow, the other hand clutching at it.

'I beg your pardon,' Georgiana said, approaching the bed tentatively. 'Is there something we can do for you?'

Miss Martin slowly turned her head, staring at her uncomprehendingly. 'Who are you?'

Georgiana frowned. 'Do you not remember? Do you even know where you are?'

'I . . . remember? Remember what?' With a groan, she sat up, wrapping the blankets around herself. 'Edward was angry about something — oh! that awful man, he shouted at him. There were so many people. Are you one of them?'

'I have not the slightest idea what you are speaking of,' Georgiana told her firmly, and added in the same unequivocal tone, 'I am Miss Darcy.'

Miss Martin's eyes widened. 'Oh! Then we must be at Pemberley. Edward said he might have to come, though he did not want . . . but I do not remember coming here.'

With another sigh, Georgiana pulled a chair over to the woman's bedside, and sat down on it. 'You have been very ill,' she explained. 'My brother sent for a doctor earlier; I think you must be getting better.'

'I know I was ill,' Miss Martin said impatiently, 'that is why we had to . . . did the doctor say anything about the child?'

'I did not talk to him, I do not know. You shall have to ask Mrs Darcy.'

'How long have I been here?'

'About three hours.'

Miss Martin looked around, plucking at the coverlet. 'This is very comfortable,' she said presently. 'It is kind of your brother to allow us to stay. Edward says they do not even get on well, but that he is more liberal than he seems.'

Georgiana took a moment to sort out the pronouns, then said stiffly, 'My brother has a reputation for generosity, and they got on perfectly well for many years.'

'You are one of them, then. Edward's people.' She studied Georgiana's face. 'You look something like her.'

'Her?'

'The woman that was there. She gave him — us — some money and told him to forget his pride. His sister or cousin, I think. There seemed a great many cousins.'

'You must mean Eleanor,' said Georgiana. 'She is Milt — Edward's sister.'

'I see.' She shut her eyes. 'How long will we be here?'

'I hardly know. As long as my brother allows.'

'He is very much lord of the manor, then?'

Georgiana pressed her lips together. 'Naturally. This is _his_ home.'

'Was he angry? Edward said he would be.'

'Yes, very. He does not care to be taken advantage of.'

Miss Martin smiled tiredly. 'Edward said he enjoyed being useful.'

'There is a difference between being useful and being used,' Georgiana told her, remembering her brother's words. After a moment, she softened. 'But I do not think my brother will force you out — for the child's sake, at least.'

The other's eyes widened. 'The child? What does your brother care about it?'

'It is the _only_ thing my brother cares about. Milton has trespassed upon his generosity too many times for him to feel any duty to him, but your child is our own flesh and blood. You are very fortunate that Milton is your protector.' A sharp note crept into her voice. 'Not every rebellious heir has such a loyal family.'

'At least your brother seems to be. Please extend my gratitude, and apologies, when you talk to him.' She winced, shifting herself slightly.

After a pause, Georgiana said, 'I shall.' A wave of tiredness swept over her, even as Miss Martin laid a protective hand over her belly.

'Where is he?'

'My brother? Downstairs.'

'No . . .' her voice grew vague again. 'Edward. I need . . . we have to speak about . . . something must be done.'

'He is asleep.'

'Did your brother say anything about . . . arrangements? For the child?' She drew her breath in sharply.

Georgiana stared at her, then said in a cold, proud voice, 'I am sure my brother wishes your child well, as we all do, but _that_, madam, is not his responsibility. Please excuse me.' Her step was firm and decisive as she walked out, shutting the door with a sharp click.

* * *

She was far too angry to sleep, as she had intended. Georgiana paced around her room, her long fingers clenching and unclenching. Somehow Miss Martin civil and at least somewhat gentler was so much more infuriating than the cruel Miss Martin of the morning. Lord of the manor indeed! How _dare_ she judge him? She was nobody, without even virtue to recommend her. And then! They had the insufferable gall to come here, expecting Fitzwilliam to grant them sanctuary until the child was born, simply because Milton did not have the sense or restraint to live within his income, and then that woman expected him to arrange for her child's situation as well?

The worst part was, Georgiana thought grimly, he probably _would_. Oh, he would write to Lord Ancaster — perhaps he already had — but of course they would leave the actual difficulties up to Fitzwilliam, did not they always? She perfectly understood why he had been so sharp with Milton earlier — he had been too gentle, too fair by half, he should have . . . oh! if only he could have abandoned them to their own devices. But all the things that made him Fitzwilliam, that made her love him so much, and made her so unutterably furious at her cousin, made it equally impossible that he should do so. He was critical and sometimes _spoke_ harshly, but there was really not a whit of malice in his character. Nor in Elizabeth's; perhaps that was why they liked each other so much, and, at least now, generally agreed on so many things.

Narcissus, curled up on her chair, opened one eye and mewed. Georgiana scooped him up into her arms and seized command of the chair, leaning her head against the wall as she tried to regain control of her temper. Her hand trembled as she stroked the kitten's silky black fur. She was not often angry, she was not often distressed, but in the past year everything in her world had changed. She loved Elizabeth but she had been so — so conflicted over that, and even though that was over, now there was . . . this. And she was like Fitzwilliam; she was almost never angry, but when she was, it tended to be very — thorough. Her head ached.

Narcissus laid his head affectionately on her hand and purred. Georgiana could not help smiling, her temper dying down to a mere simmer easily set aside. 'You are very good for me,' she told him softly. No animal had personality quite like a cat.

For the first time since leaving Fitzwilliam, she allowed her mind to drift to what he had told her, her hand shaking again. Memories of her father, warm, sunny, affectionate, flashed through her thoughts.

He was a good man. She had always known it, but somehow the revelation of his flaws made her understand how very good he had been. What sort of man accepted another man's child into his home and his heart as Mr Darcy had? There had been no hint, nothing, ever, that she was anything less than his daughter. She wished he were here — not as she had wished before, with wistful affection, but because she had been so young when he died, she had never _talked_ with him, and now there were so many things she wanted to know. Fitzwilliam was, after all, only twelve years older than she was. There were a things a boy of eleven would not have seen and would not have heard.

She imagined them all; the man who was nothing more than a name and a pair of green eyes, who had loved her mother. Were there letters? Journals? Anything? She pictured the elder brother, now himself Lord Aldborough — her uncle? — his children Courtland and Dorothea. And then there were the others, Lady Anne, Mr Darcy, Aunt Helen, Fitzwilliam.

She had known that Courtland must have been at Pemberley often, like Richard was, but she never truly thought of it. What odd circumstances for a friendship like theirs to form — Lady Anne's son, and her nephew, and her paramour's heir. Had they all known, the three boys running about Pemberley, Courtland with his horses and Fitzwilliam his books and Richard embroiling the others in scrapes? What about Eleanor, was she there too? Did she know?

Yes, of course; everybody knew, and that was why Milton knew, knew enough to tell Miss Martin something. Lord Ancaster and Lady Anne had been so close, and their families — she was sure everybody knew, except perhaps Lady Catherine and Anne. _That_ was something to be grateful for. Georgiana was sure that everybody would have been subject to Lady Catherine's multifarious opinions on the subject, if she'd had the slightest inkling, and Anne would think whatever Lady Catherine did.

It did not really matter, she decided, deliberately steadying her fingers. She was a Darcy and a Fitzwilliam either way, and her father and brother had made her completely one of them, Miss Darcy of Pemberley.

She wondered if Fitzwilliam would lose his temper with Milton again, and rather hoped so.

* * *

Georgiana woke to the sound of most un-Pemberley-like chaos. Looking out her window, she could see that it was very late, and only snatched up a robe before hurrying down the hall, searching for an explanation.

'Georgiana!' Mrs Darcy exclaimed, looking most uncharacteristically discomposed. 'What are you — oh, never mind. You should go downstairs, to Fitzwilliam, until it is over.'

'Until what — ' But it was too late, her sister had already vanished into one of the rooms — Miss Martin's. Well, no surprise that the disorder should come from there. A scream pierced the air, and Georgiana jumped, then took Elizabeth's advice.

She poked her head in the library, but it was empty. However, when she paused at his study, she could hear the measured cadences of his voice, and also a rougher one accompanying it, though she could not make out the words of either. She opened the door.

'Fitzwilliam? Elizabeth told me to . . .' She blinked at the incongruous sight that met her eyes — her brother, despite the hour his usual impeccably formal self, shaking hands with a homely farmer.

'Ah, Georgiana,' the former said, with perfect aplomb. 'This is Mr Cahill. Cahill, my sister Miss Darcy.'

The farmer was eyeing her curiously, but at the sound of her name started and bowed awkwardly. ''Tis an honour, miss,' he mumbled.

Georgiana instantly pulled on her most gracious demeanour, hiding the anxiety that swept over her at the sight of a stranger. 'Thank you, Mr Cahill. Yours is the farm next to the Browns', is it not?'

He looked astounded. 'Why, yes, ma'am, it is.'

She was suddenly grateful for Fitzwilliam's long, rambling letters. She clearly remembered his irritable account of the constant quarrels between the Browns and Cahills, and that he had ultimately decided in the latter's favour. Georgiana exerted herself insofar as to shake hands with him, rather overwhelming the poor man.

'Georgiana, Mr Cahill has been kind enough to do us a favour,' Fitzwilliam said, gesturing for them both to sit down, as if they were the most ordinary of guests, rather than a dishevelled tenant and Miss Darcy with her hair down. 'He had expected to take in his half-sister's child, but both mother and daughter died before arriving here.'

'Oh! I am very sorry, Mr Cahill,' she said, looking at him compassionately, even as her mind leapt ahead to possibilities.

'Thank you, miss,' he replied, eyes fixed on the floor.

'Since nobody is actually familiar with his sister, Mr Cahill has agreed to harbour the child in his home, in exchange for a small annuity to provide for its care.' He said nothing further, though Georgiana knew how very much more complex the arrangements must be. Later, after Mr Cahill had gone to talk to Mrs Reynolds' nephew, apparently some connection of his, she turned to her brother and said, holding out her hands,

'How can you be so good and _live?_'

He turned a vivid shade of scarlet. 'Georgiana . . .'

'I knew you would arrange everything, unworthy as they are. They have no right to expect it, but of course you would do everything yourself. You always do.' She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

'It was not for them, Georgiana, I would not have . . . I do not know what I have done,' he corrected, with his usual fastidiousness, 'but this — this is for that child. It deserves better than those two, and Mr Cahill is a good man. He is close enough that we will be able to watch over it somewhat, yet not so much as to create bitterness.'

'Sometimes, Fitzwilliam, I really think you would do anything for your own blood. If circumstances were changed, do you think the others would do half as much for you?'

He looked at her gravely. 'Not Milton, certainly — but, yes, I think my uncle would, and Eleanor, as far as she could. You forget, Georgiana, how different it was when I was young.'

'You are young, Fitzwilliam, until you are thirty.'

'A child, then. You were not even alive — I assure you, they earned my devotion. I would have been very miserable indeed without them.'

She thought of the picture he had painted earlier, and the literal picture she had seen. He had described himself as lonely, sullen, and angry. If that was at all true — though of course he was too harsh with himself, he always was about his little imperfections — she supposed the earl's kindness and Richard and Eleanor's friendship must have meant a great deal. When she asked, once, why Milton and Fitzwilliam did not get along as everyone said they once had, Eleanor blamed it all on Milton's folly — but Richard said . . . what had been said?

_'Your partiality makes you unjust,' he said, with unusual gravity. 'Eleanor, you know it is not so unreasonable as that.'_

_'Oh!' cried Eleanor, 'oh, of course he has his reasons — there are always reasons, inadequate and petty though they may be.'_

_'What do you mean?' Georgiana piped up; she was more at ease with her family then. 'How could anyone have reasons for disliking Fitzwilliam — at least, anyone who truly knows him?'_

_'Jealousy,' Richard said simply. 'I wager that if my father liked him less, Milton would like him more; but my father's attachment to him has grown and Milton's jealousy with it. He does not easily bear the sort of preference that is often given your brother.'_

_Eleanor said nothing, but her disdainful sniff spoke louder than words._

_'Well, that is silly,' said Georgiana. 'It is not as if Fitzwilliam can help being so good, or my uncle can help loving him so much.'_

_'Just so,' Richard told her, laughing. 'What a sensible girl you are, Cat. Now, I am done with gloomy talk. Were you not going to show me that clever pony of yours?'  
_  
Miss Martin was very wrong, Georgiana decided. Knowing how she had come to be did not make her any more sympathetic towards them; but she felt a sudden sharp compassion for her brother. If she were truly Lady Anne and Lord Stephen's love-child (what a trite phrase that was!), at least she knew that she had come from something infinitely happier than her brother, the product of such wretched bitterness. The genuine, if reserved, affection of the Fitzwilliams, and especially of Lord Ancaster, must have meant everything to him; she hoped that Elizabeth could teach him that some debts did not have to be paid forever. She hoped the child deserved everything that was being done for it, and somewhat vindictively, she hoped Milton and Miss Martin went on to live the rest of their selfish lives in petty, ignomimous, insignificant sin.


	14. Chapter 14

_Last chapter: Georgiana speaks to a now-lucid Miss Martin, and very thoroughly loses her temper. Later, Miss Martin begins to give birth, and Georgiana is sent downstairs to join her brother. He introduces a tenant who has agreed to take responsibility for the child, once born._

**Chapter Fourteen**

The child was called Marianne Edwards, courtesy of her hopelessly impractical parents. It was, Georgiana felt certain, the last decision they would make in their daughter's life. Fitzwilliam had already hired a wet-nurse and they scarcely saw the baby.

She found it almost disturbingly easy to dismiss all three from her thoughts. She sat in her brother's study, her nimble fingers working of their own accord, leaving her mind free. Far more interesting to her than any of her relations was her sister-in-law's peculiar behaviour.

At present, Elizabeth was dozing lightly on the sofa, thoroughly exhausted. She had driven herself ragged over the last fortnight, and for no particular reason. Both her husband and sister had protested, but since they had no desire to tax her further, they did not dare press further and instead watched her sharply. Mrs Darcy's strength had seemed unflagging, until — finally! — little Marianne was delivered to the Cahill farm and the doctor had declared that Miss Martin was beginning to recover from her ordeal.

Georgiana pondered. Elizabeth seemed neutral towards Milton and actively disliked Miss Martin — there was nothing there. Did she feel _she_ had something to do with the pass their family had come to? Such an irrational conclusion did not seem at all like her. The only thing that Georgiana could think of was that Elizabeth was trying to prove something to someone. Fitzwilliam? Nonsense; his habitual sedateness might keep many from perceiving the depth of his esteem, but Elizabeth certainly could not be counted among them. The servants? Mrs Reynolds already liked her, and while Beeker retained some snobbish scruples, they had served to amuse his mistress more than anything else. The rest, according to Kate, approved of her in varying degrees (except the head cook, who felt Mrs Darcy's simple tastes unworthy of his vast skill).

Who else was there?

Well, Georgiana herself, but she dismissed that thought. It was just possible that Elizabeth cared about her opinion — despite her personal deficiencies, she _was_ Fitzwilliam's sister and that counted for something — but not to this degree. Her brow furrowed as she watched her, but she was not really anxious. It was a good day; soon Milton and Miss Martin would be gone, Elizabeth was was finally sleeping, their Willoughby cousins intended to call that afternoon, and the room was quiet and serene, the silence disturbed only by Elizabeth's deep breathing and the steady, soothing scratching of Fitzwilliam's quill.

He was writing to Lord Ancaster; it was a small sort of revenge for the havoc Milton had wreaked, but both Darcys took a quiet, vindictive pleasure as Fitzwilliam told their uncle of the affair in minute detail, with a special emphasis on the things Milton would least like his father to know.

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, by dint of much pushing and prodding, finally convinced Elizabeth to go to bed, since she was so obviously in no condition to receive callers. The Willoughbys arrived a few minutes later.

'Good afternoon,' Lord Courtland said cheerfully. Mr Willoughby's small daughter seemed hardly to know what to look at next, but finally fixed her wide-eyed gaze on Georgiana, creeping over to her after the obligatory greetings had been exchanged.

'Amy, do not bother Miss Darcy,' Mr Willoughby ordered.

'Oh, I do not mind,' Georgiana assured him. He smiled a little, but for all the expressiveness of his mobile face she could not see anything of his true thoughts. Somewhat perturbed, she turned back to Miss Willoughby. 'Welcome back to Pemberley,' she said gently. 'What do you think of Derbyshire?'

'It's very cold,' the child whispered. With a visible effort, she added, 'Your house is pretty, Miss Darcy.'

'Thank you. I am very fond of it.'

'I . . . it's so _big_,' she went on. 'Do you ever get lost?'

Georgiana kept herself from laughing. 'No. This is my home, I know it very well. But I have got lost at Aincourt.'

'I'm staying at Aincourt. It's big too, but not nearly so big as Pembury.' She chewed her lip, glancing over at Courtland and Dorothea. 'Combe Magna is friendlier though.'

'What is Combe Magna like?'

The girl instantly brightened. 'It's on a sort of hill — like here, but a smaller hill — and there are some trees, and some water, and it's warmer, and it's very pleasant . . .' Her voice trailed off. 'It's hard to describe,' she admitted.

'I understand,' said Georgiana. 'It is the same with Pemberley, at least for me.'

'Lord Courtland is nice,' Miss Willoughby said timidly. 'He doesn't have to let us stay at his house. And he doesn't treat me like I'm just a silly little girl.'

'He is sensible, at least,' Georgiana told her, smiling, 'since you are not silly at all.'

Miss Willoughby's mouth curled into a tentative smile. 'Do you like Lord Courtland, Miss Darcy?'

'Yes, of course,' Georgiana said, her eyes widening in surprise, 'he is one of my brother's closest friends, and a con — a cousin, as well.'

'A cousin? But Lord Courtland is _my_ cousin,' Miss Willoughby declared.

'Exactly — ' Georgiana reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind the girl's ear — 'that is how I am related to you, too.'

Miss Willoughby's entire face lightened. 'You're my cousin? But I thought . . .'

'It is very distant.'

_'Oh.'_ She tilted her head to the side. 'It's better than nothing, though. Except for Lord Courtland and Lady Aldborough and Dorothea and Julia, and I hardly see them, it's just Papa and me, really. My mama died when I was a baby.'

'I am sorry — that is hard.' Georgiana paused. 'Julia? Who is that?'

'Some sort of cousin, I don't know really,' she said vaguely. 'I heard my papa say that they say she's ess — ex-cent — odd. Where's your mama?'

'She is dead.'

'Oh.' Miss Willoughby looked at the floor. 'I wish I had a brother, though Dorothea says they mostly just tease and torment their sisters . . . does your brother tease you?'

'No, indeed,' said Georgiana, trying not to laugh. 'He usually only teases people he dislikes — but then, it is a little different for us. Dorothea and Courtland are not so far apart . . .' Then she stopped. Thinking it over, the two were not at all close in age — there were some ten years between them. 'That is,' she corrected herself, 'Dorothea is several years older than I am and with their parents alive, Lord Courtland does not need to look after her so much.'

'I would like a brother like yours, then,' Miss Willoughby said. 'There's nobody to look after me but my papa, and I think he must be lonely.'

Georgiana cast Mr Willoughby a sceptical look. She knew a little of the man's reputation — enough that she could not suppose he was much plagued by loneliness, of all things. Then she turned her attention back to his daughter. The poor thing, motherless and with only a scandalous rake for a father — Georgiana wished she could do something for her.

As they prepared to go, promising to call later on, Miss Willoughby looked wistfully around, her fingers clinging to Georgiana's skirts before she obediently returned to her father's side.

'Thank you for your patience with my Amy, Miss Darcy,' Mr Willoughby said, smiling.

'You are welcome,' Georgiana replied, 'but it did not take much patience.' Gathering her courage, she added bravely, 'Your daughter is a charming girl, sir.'

Astonished dimples appeared in Miss Willoughby's cheeks as she flushed scarlet. Her father did not look at her, keeping his eyes on Georgiana as he said, 'You are very kind.'

'I think, Willoughby,' Fitzwilliam interjected, 'that my sister would rather you believe her _sincere_ than kind.'

This was so exactly what Georgiana wished, but had not the nerve, to say, that she tilted her head up and smiled brightly at her brother. Sometimes he felt so distant, so much greater than she, almost more father than brother; but then, there were moments like this, when it was as if the gap between them had vanished, and they might have been children together again. _No_, she thought, eyes wide with epiphany, _not children, never again — but now, I am not a child either —_

She wondered if he missed that youthful camaraderie as much as she did. He had been so much older, but she remembered her tall brother spiriting her out of the house, his narrow boyish face alight with laughter as they threw snow at each other. There would be no more childish adventures, sneaking past their father's study, stealing pastries or riding on the horse that Mr Darcy insisted was much too big for her —

Then she thought of the ball, ducking into a crowd to escape an undesirable partner, and smiled. Perhaps not everything had changed.

* * *

It was not the most Christianlike impulse which led Georgiana to say, with the greatest sweetness, 'Cousin, there is someone here to see you.'

Milton stepped away from the bed where his mistress slept. Tiredly, he lifted his dark eyes, and repeated, 'Here? Georgy, there must be some mistake — you must have misunderstood.'

She smiled brightly. 'Oh, no — it is most assuredly not a mistake.' Georgiana paused, thinking something over. Before, when it was as if she owed him so much — well, that was one thing, but now — With all the dignity at her command, she said, 'Milton, before you go downstairs, could I please ask a favour?'

'Of course you may.' He looked at her directly, a shadow of the older cousin she had once admired and idolised.

'Please stop calling me "Georgy." Surely my Christian name is not so objectionable that you cannot bring yourself to use it. Everyone else does — is there something I do not understand?'

'Of course not. I am sorry, Georgiana,' he said instantly, 'I did not know you minded it, or I would not have . . .'

She looked down at her hands. 'I never felt I had the right to mind it, before.' Georgiana managed a weak smile. 'They will be waiting for you, cousin.'

She watched him go impassively. It crossed her mind that she might have given some sort of warning as to what awaited him.

_Nonsense_, she told herself. _I do not owe him anything, and he does not deserve such consideration in any case. Not after this._

* * *

Almost immediately thereafter, Elizabeth fainted — the household was thrown into chaos — Georgiana sat and fretted. It proved to be 'nothing worse than exhaustion,' however, and she was given leave to join her sister while the doctor talked to Fitzwilliam. With a touch of trepidation, she rose and walked down the hall, to the mistress' chamber. She had only been there a few times in her life — the large empty room rather frightened her.

Georgiana hesitated before the door. However, if Elizabeth was still asleep, she did not want to wake her, so she did not knock, but instead opened the door and slipped into the room.

It had been evident on Christmas that Elizabeth spent a considerable amount of time in her husband's rooms, but nevertheless this one was clearly hers. There were clothes draped over chairs, brushes and creams and who knew what else scattered across a vanity, piles of letters that Georgiana resolutely refused to look at. It was not remotely frightening now.

Elizabeth appeared to be dozing, so Georgiana walked as softly as she could, and settled herself into a chair next to the bed.

''Giana?' Elizabeth asked sleepily.

'Yes, it is I,' Georgiana murmured. 'Fitzwilliam asked me to come and stay with you.'

Elizabeth blinked, then rubbed her eyes and sat up. Georgiana had never found her intimidating, for it was really impossible to be intimidated by a slender woman scarcely more than five feet tall, but right now she looked so delicate and small that even the usual admiring alarm seemed excessive.

'Is he . . . is something wrong?' Elizabeth asked, stifling a yawn.

Georgiana blinked. 'Elizabeth, you fainted.'

'I did?' She looked astonished. 'I do not remember that.'

'You have been too hard on yourself,' Georgiana told her, with the courage that comes of absolute conviction. 'We did not understand — they certainly do not deserve it — but you were already tired, we did not have the heart to burden you further. We had no idea that you were so exhausted, though, or we would have done something.' She paused. 'When did you last eat?— really eat, that is, not just pick at your food.'

Elizabeth screwed up her face like a child. 'Oh . . . I hardly remember. I have not been really hungry for three or four days.'

'It is no wonder you fainted, then. The doctor said nothing was wrong with you. We were all very glad to hear it — even Miss Martin seemed worried, a little.'

Elizabeth laughed, and swung her legs out.

'Oh no,' Georgiana said, placing a hand on her sister's arm. 'You should not leave your bed, the doctor said.'

'What?' She looked horrified.

'That is why I am here,' Georgiana went on doggedly, 'to make certain you obey the orders. Fitzwilliam said so.'

Elizabeth stared at her; then she flashed a quick sharp smile and settled back into her blankets. 'Very well,' she said. 'But you must tell me what has happened.'

Georgiana tried not to look too smug. 'Well . . . you have been unwell for a few days, and quite busy before that, so you might not know, but Fitzwilliam has been writing to Lord Ancaster. Since it was his throwing Milton out that resulted in his, Milton's, coming here and, well, inconveniencing everybody, my uncle decided it was his responsibility to sort it out. He arrived just a few minutes ago, and he wanted to talk to Milton immediately.'

'Oh?' Elizabeth plucked at her blanket. 'That must be an interesting conversation.'

Surely she could not be nervous? Georgiana knew that her family had had reservations about Fitzwilliam's choice, and their first welcome was far from warm, but Elizabeth had comported herself with poise and élan. And that was before — everything was different now. Georgiana bit her lip and said, 'Yes, I think so. He is very angry at Milton for coming here.'

Elizabeth looked startled. 'Is he? It is hard to picture him angry.'

'He does not raise his voice, of course,' Georgiana agreed, 'but he becomes very sharp. Not cruel, exactly — it is not that he means to cause pain, but when he loses his temper he can be unkind without realising it.' _Like Fitzwilliam_, she thought, then felt guilty for the traitorous thought.

'If anyone deserves it — ' Elizabeth cut herself off. 'That was not very charitable, was it?'

'He has received more than enough charity from us,' Georgiana muttered resentfully. Elizabeth's eyes widened, but she only said,

'I think we are in perfect agreement on that subject.' She paused. 'Why did Fitzwilliam write to Lord Ancaster?'

This was so near to what Georgiana actually wished to speak to her sister-in-law about that she tensed. Her fingernails dug into her hands hard enough to leave little half-moon-shaped marks on her palms. Anger had given her a sort of assurance, but now it had mostly drained away, and there was nothing left. It is for Fitzwilliam, she told herself. And this is Elizabeth. Just Elizabeth.

Cautiously, she began, 'Well — even once Miss Martin is recovered, they have nowhere to go, and Lord Ancaster does care a great deal about — about kinship. Milton is rather a disappointment to him, I think, but he is his son, and heir . . .'

Elizabeth gave her a shrewd look. 'And Fitzwilliam is not a disappointment.'

'N-no,' Georgiana admitted. 'That is why he is so angry — he knew what was happening, that is why he threw Milton out — but I do not think he thought that Milton might importune Fitzwilliam in such a way, especially now. You had not been married two months when he arrived. Lord Ancaster thinks that is terribly — ' she summoned up a faint smile — 'indecorous.'

Elizabeth laughed. 'That seems . . . very like your uncle.'

'Yes. Though, I do not think he would mind so much, if it were not . . .' Georgiana wet her lip. 'He is so very fond of Fitzwilliam, you see. My brother is a great favourite with Mother's family, but particularly with Lord Ancaster.'

'Fitzwilliam told me a little about that,' Elizabeth said. 'Before we were married — he said that the Earl had always favoured him.'

'He has,' Georgiana said urgently, 'ever since he was a little boy. You see, he was so very unhappy at home, and I think, from what I have heard, that a great deal of the time he was left to — to practically bring himself up. So when Lord Ancaster took him in, and he and Richard and Eleanor became such friends, I think it — it meant so much that he has never forgotten it.'

'So that is why . . .' Elizabeth's voice trailed off as her brows drew together. Georgiana waited. It was with a visible effort that her sister straightened and met her eyes. 'Fitzwilliam loves your family, doesn't he?'

Georgiana blinked at her.

'That is,' Elizabeth clarified, 'rather beyond the usual.'

'Yes,' said Georgiana earnestly, 'he is — he is very . . . constant. He almost never changes his mind about anyone or anything, and he used to nearly worship the ground my uncle walked on, Richard says — he says that Fitzwilliam was always copying him, when he was younger. When he was older . . .' She shrugged. 'I suppose there was no need any more.'

'I rather thought it was something like that.' Elizabeth looked at her window, seeming unusually quiet and contemplative.

Georgiana summoned whatever nerve she possessed, and said,'He does not understand, but you could make him — couldn't you?'

Elizabeth stared at her. 'Georgiana, whatever do you mean?'

'I know Lord Ancaster was very kind to him, but Fitzwilliam — he will not _forget. _ He — I have watched him, and he — it is like he thinks there is a debt because of it, and he has to keep paying and paying and nothing will ever be enough.' She looked at her sister pleadingly. 'That is why he is always — well, you have seen how he is.'

'Georgiana, you know that your brother cannot love by halves.' Elizabeth smiled. 'I have, indeed, seen "how he is," but . . . I he is going to change, and in truth, I would not wish him to.'

'They use him,' Georgiana insisted. 'It is not fair!'

'Lord Milton uses him, yes. Lady Catherine — very probably. Perhaps even your grandmother, and likely Lady Diana. But the others — Lord Ancaster, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and his sister — ' she looked as if she had swallowed something bitter — 'they, I rather think, are a bit different. Certainly your uncle is, if he truly feels so angry at Milton's treatment of Fitzwilliam in this . . . affair.'

Somewhat mollified, Georgiana said, 'Yes, they are . . . well, it helps that he likes them better — and since he never asks for help — ' she could not help the vexation that crept into her voice — 'sometimes they interfere whether he wants them to or not.'

'I can imagine that very easily.'

Georgiana pressed on with nary a smile. 'But they do not stop the others. Richard says it is because he knows that Fitzwilliam likes being useful, but Fitzwilliam told me himself that they do not understand the difference between being useful and used.'

'That is quite possible. Georgiana, you need not worry too much about your brother. I will speak to him about — moderation, I give you my word; and I will do my best to stop the others from importuning him to such a degree.'

Georgiana gave a sigh of relief. 'Thank you so much. I know he is older and can take care of himself, but . . . I cannot help worrying. I have seen the way people take advantage of him, and — and he is my _brother_.'

'I understand,' Elizabeth assured her. 'It is quite natural — you forget that I, too, am a sister, and my own Jane . . .' She shook her head. 'She is a little like Fitzwilliam — not a great deal, but she is even-tempered and — intense, and she takes far too much upon herself.' Then she laughed, rather tiredly, and held out her hand. 'Shall we agree to protect Fitzwilliam from himself?'

'I will try.' Georgiana clasped the hand, which was shaking a bit. 'You are tired, Elizabeth; you should back to sleep.'

Elizabeth smiled wryly. 'I see that my husband is not the only one who needs — guidance. Thank you, Georgiana.' She laid her pale cheek against the pillow, and quickly drifted off once more.


	15. Chapter 15

_Last chapter: Milton and Miss Martin's child, a girl named Marianne, is sent off to the Cahills. Georgiana is more interested in the odd behavior of her sister, who ends up driving herself to exhaustion for no apparent reason. The Willoughbys arrive, including Mr Willoughby of Combe Magna, an ex-poor relation, and his young daughter Amy. Amy quickly takes to Georgiana, and Mr Willoughby is grateful for her patience with her. Elizabeth faints, and the doctor is sent for; he tells Darcy that there is nothing wrong, and she's only tired, and should stay in bed for a few days. Lord Ancaster arrives to deal with his wayward son, and Georgiana stands up to Milton, insisting that he stop using a nickname that she loathes. Georgiana is sent to keep the bedridden Elizabeth company, and she reveals her irritation with the Fitzwilliams, asking Elizabeth to help protect her brother._

**Chapter Fifteen**

Georgiana waited until Elizabeth was deeply asleep, nearly an hour later, then went downstairs once more. She longed to know what was happening in her brother's study, but when she passed by the room (attempting to look perfectly casual) all she could make out was an occasional loud protest from Milton, and a low murmur that was Lord Ancaster, or Fitzwilliam, or both. The doctor, apparently, had already left.

She gazed at the door, wondering if she would be caught if she pressed her ear against it.

_Fitzwilliam would disapprove_, she told herself sternly. _Besides, it would be very unladylike._ Only children and servants listened at doors, and she wasn't a child any more. Still, the temptation was intense, and more than once she threw a longing glance at the thick wood before setting her jaw and turning away. He would tell her, and Kate would probably know something — she had the most remarkable knack for picking up gossip. She took several determined steps towards the library.

There was a flash of red out of the corner of her eye; then a familiar voice called out, 'Is that you, Cat?'

Georgiana whirled around. 'Richard!' She picked up her skirts and ran towards her cousin, allowing him to embrace her as smiles wreathed her face. 'Why, nobody told me — I am so glad you are here.'

'Since I am not yet needed for the glory of Britain, I decided to join my father,' he said, taking her arm. 'He was determined to act immediately, and I daresay your brother — and sister — will be glad enough to see the end of Milton and Miss Martin.'

'Yes, indeed,' she replied fervently. 'Did — you know? What he intended, I mean?'

He shook his head. 'I am afraid not. If I had, I would have done something. Ella guessed, I think, since she sent a letter express the instant they were gone, but she did not feel the need to inform anybody else.'

'Miss Martin said she gave them some money. I think she felt sorry for — somebody.' Georgiana paused. 'Is she here?'

'No.' Richard laughed. 'She is playing Lady Bountiful, Cecily would say.'

'What would you say?'

He lifted his eyebrows. 'I? Well, if you are quite sure you would prefer the opinion of a hopelessly common soldier over a lady — '

'Well, she is still . . . _Cecily._ And of course I want your opinion — I asked for it, did I not?'

He laughed. 'Indeed. Well, in my opinion, it is a great pity my younger sister is not my elder brother. It is not the first time my father has trusted the care of our estates to her. She is hopelessly efficient, you know.'

'Yes,' Georgiana said. 'I know.' She tried to imagine Eleanor's and Milton's places exchanged, and couldn't suppress a giggle. 'Milton would not make a very good lady, though.'

'No — it is rather difficult to imagine.' He glanced around. 'Pemberley looks very much the same. I would not know there is a new mistress.'

'Elizabeth likes it as it is,' she said defensively. 'So do I — I am very glad she did not want to change things.'

'It speaks well of her taste, at least. I did not recognise the portrait of my aunt, though; the one next to your father in Darcy's study.'

Georgiana smiled. 'There were several in the chapel. Mrs Reynolds and her nephew saved them, but were afraid to tell anyone. Elizabeth found them when I took her there, but we forgot because of Narcissus so it was awhile before I remembered to tell them and he had them put up in places.'

'I see.—Narcissus?' He pushed open the door and they stepped out, the wind pulling at her hair and skirts.

'My cat — his mother died and he was starving when I found him under a bench.'

He chuckled at that. 'You are such a Darcy, Georgiana — always saving things, the lot of you.'

'Thank you,' she said, flushing with pleasure. 'Did m-my father, too?'

'Lord, yes.' His hearty laughter rang out across the courtyard. 'And his sister. You wouldn't remember her. She was more like Darcy — she'd rather take up causes than people, though she was friendly enough, when it suited her. I liked her.'

'Aunt Helen?' Georgiana thought of the pretty girl in the portrait. 'Did Fitzwilliam like her?'

Her cousin shrugged. 'He never knew her very well. He was just eight or nine when she died.'

'You are only a few years older.'

'It makes a difference, at that age. She married somebody else — some marquis — and went to France.'

'Somebody else?' Georgiana's eyes narrowed. 'Was everyone's life out of a novel, then?'

He managed a quick smile. 'Out of several, I should say. My father wanted to marry her.'

_'Lord Ancaster?'_

'He was Lord Milton then, but yes. Her family did not think he was quite good enough for them.'

'Why on earth not? Would they not be pleased to see their daughter as an earl's wife — a future earl's wife?'

'Earls are not created equal any more than gentlemen are, Cat. Your family has been wealthy and powerful for a very long time, and your grandparents were not about to let anyone forget it — certainly not upstarts like the Fitzwilliams.' His quick smile took away any bitterness that might have attached itself to the words.

'But . . .' She remembered her brother telling her about their parents' marriage, about how their father had been infatuated, while their mother married him for her family's sake. 'Fitzwilliam said that Mother married Father to be respectable, or something like that. I do not remember exactly, but I thought it was strange. The Fitzwilliams seem so much more . . . influential.'

'We actually use what influence we possess — but you will see what I mean, when you have your first Season. Everyone will be speaking of what Miss Darcy said and how Miss Darcy looked and what Miss Darcy wore.'

Georgiana paled.

'I daresay you will have many more suitors than Ella ever did,' he went on cheerfully. 'There are already some, I understand. Darcy tells me that Cardwell likes you a great deal.'

'Mr Cardwell?' She stared at him.

'Yes — Laura's brother. You can do better, though. He is a bit young to be thinking of marriage, too rash and heedless. Besides, then there would be Lady Cardwell for a mother-in-law. Of course, there is also the Lindsay boy, but his father wants him for Lady Dorothea . . .'

'Oh, please stop,' she said incoherently, turning her face away, into the wind.

'Georgiana,' he said, in a grave voice very unlike him, 'you are Miss Darcy of Pemberley. You cannot hide from yourself forever.' There was no trace of the usual twinkle in his eyes.

'But I am not . . .' His eyebrows went up, and she stared at the ground. 'I suppose I still am, at that. Richard, did you — did you know? You must have, I think . . .'

He tilted his head to the side. 'I beg your pardon?'

She managed to meet his eyes. 'Fitzwilliam told me about . . . about Mother, and Lord Stephen, because of something that Miss Martin said, and because he thought I was old enough to know — to know how things really were.'

'Oh, that.' He looked at her steadily. 'It must have been startling.'

'Yes, it was. But . . . it does not change anything, does it? Not really.'

'No,' said Richard. 'Not at all.' Then he gave her his usual quick grin, and held out his arm. 'Let us talk of happier matters, however. How do your brother and his wife get on?'

'He laughed twice in the first week,' she told him solemnly.

* * *

When Georgiana and her cousin returned to the house, the doors to the study were open, and they went in together.

'There you are, Richard,' said Lord Ancaster. 'Georgiana — you look very well.'

She flushed and mumbled a thank-you.

'Ah . . . my dear scapegrace brother,' Richard cried. 'How soon shall we have the pleasure of your company?'

Milton scowled and said nothing.

'Today,' Lord Ancaster said grimly. Georgiana started, her eyes wide. She knew how energetic Lord Ancaster could be, once he decided to do something, but . . . 'Fitzwilliam, I believe I may depend upon you to send . . . whatever her name is . . . with a servant, once the doctor believes she may travel safely?'

'Of course, uncle,' said Fitzwilliam, looking as if he were trying very hard not to smile. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to look after my wife.'

He was at the door when Milton said, 'Darcy!'

Fitzwilliam halted; then, slowly turning, he replied in measured tones, 'Yes, Milton?'

'Will you . . .' He swallowed visibly. 'Will you please apologise to your wife for me? I am very sorry about her . . . indisposition.'

Several expressions flickered on Fitzwilliam's face before he settled back into his usual impassivity. 'I shall,' he said. 'Georgiana, would you care to join me?'

She eagerly leapt up and walked out of the room at his side, leaving the Fitzwilliams to themselves.

* * *

Lord Ancaster, Richard, and Milton left that very Friday; Miss Martin was gone by Tuesday.

Only then did Georgiana realise what an effect they'd had on the house. She felt that a burden had lifted, not only on her, but everyone. Fitzwilliam's sharp black humour vanished as if it had never been, the servants regained their usual cheer, and soon, Elizabeth's laughter could be heard downstairs. Generally it was focussed on Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, who could not help fussing over her, a little; by the Friday after the Fitzwilliams' departure, there was no hint that anything had ever been wrong, and the Darcy siblings rather reluctantly desisted.

It was a Saturday when Georgiana returned from the courtyard, where she liked to draw, and went looking for her brother and sister. She found them in the library, standing before a tall window with the early morning sunlight pouring in on them. Georgiana took a step towards them, then stopped, abruptly aware that she was intruding on an almost painfully private moment. Fitzwilliam held Elizabeth's hands in his, and was speaking to her in a low, urgent voice.

Georgiana bit back a smile and turned away, but a loud cry from Elizabeth had her wheeling around. Was she hurt? Had some new horror happened? Was she —

Elizabeth had flung herself into Fitzwilliam's arms, her hands locked behind his neck, in his hair, and her feet dangling some inches off the ground. She was covering his startled face in kisses; Georgiana once again decided to leave, and had actually gone several steps when her brother's voice rang out.

'Georgiana!'

Half-reluctant, half-curious, she took several cautious steps on her own. Elizabeth was now pressed tightly against his arm, her head on his shoulder, with a degree of happiness in her expression that Georgiana had never seen, not in her or anybody else. Fitzwilliam's harsh features had softened into a warm, gentle smile.

'I am sorry,' she said, 'only I heard — and I was worried — '

He waved her remorse away. 'No; we would have sent for you in any case. We . . .' He looked unaccountably nervous. 'We want to tell you something.'

She instantly sat down, preparing for the worst. What could make them so very happy, and yet have such weight as to make even Fitzwilliam anxious? _School_, she thought, her heart filling with dread. No - 'Y-yes?' She glanced from one to the other. _They would not do that. They would **not**._

'Elizabeth and I,' said Fitzwilliam, his voice peculiarly tremulous, 'we are — that is, she — '

'Men are no good at this sort of thing,' Elizabeth interrupted. 'What your brother is trying to tell you, Georgiana, is that, in about eight months, you are going to be an aunt.'

'An aunt?' Then all the pieces fell together. Her mouth dropped open. 'You . . . you are going to have a child?'

They nodded.

'Oh!' There was no place for reserve at such a moment as this. Even as her eyes filled with tears, she rushed forward to kiss her brother and embrace her sister. 'Oh, I am _so_ happy for you — and for me!— what must I do? Surely I can help, with something?'

'Well, there is nothing to concern yourself with, at present. Just try not to be too shocked at what I eat.'

'That is why you fainted? And why you put sugar in your broth yesterday?'

'Of course.' Elizabeth gave her husband a pointed look. 'I am not so frail as that.'

'The doctor says — '

'Oh, never mind the doctor.' Elizabeth smiled at her. 'I do expect to be very indulged, however!'

'Of course.' Georgiana exchanged a rather worried glance with Fitzwilliam. Clearly he, at least, was very much inclined to _mind the doctor._ Somewhat relieved, she said tactfully, 'I think you should be by yourselves right now . . . if you want me, I shall be practising my harp.' She hugged them both once more, and then, humming to herself, walked out.

* * *

The good news was duly announced, and congratulations flowed in. The Cardwells, Drummonds, Willoughbys, Trents — every body was delighted. Lady Allendale and Lady Caroline Villiers, Elizabeth's most particular friends, came to Pemberley — cried, smiled, kissed her — and fussed almost more than her husband and sister. As often as not, the three women invited Georgiana to join them, and sometimes, she did.

The Fitzwilliams, formerly rather cold and awkward around Elizabeth, paid overjoyed respects, _sans_ Milton (who instead wrote a handsome letter). The ladies offered advice, the gentlemen luck, and the dowager cried. Richard and Courtland, the companions of Fitzwilliam's youth, called almost as often as Lady Allendale and Lady Caroline; Georgiana saw them at least once a week, and often more.

'Shall you like being an aunt, do you think?' Richard asked her, with an attempt at a guardianly look.

'Oh yes,' said Georgiana earnestly, 'I love children — my cousins, and the little Gardiners, and . . . and all of them, really.'

'I understand from Diana and Eleanor that you have quite the hand with them. Kate and John insist that my stories are not "half so good as Cousin Georgiana's." '

She flushed brilliantly.

It really seemed that her family's happiness could not be improved upon; then similar intelligence arrived from Mrs Bingley in Hertfordshire, and in early spring, the Gardiners asked Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth to stand godparents to their newborn daughter.

'Her name is Sarah Elizabeth,' said Elizabeth proudly, and her smile gentled as she caught Fitzwilliam's eye. 'I should love to see her.'

'We were to leave for town next month,' he said; 'I daresay we could move the date forward, and see your family on the way south.'

Elizabeth beamed, and, as quickly as that, it was decided -- to London they were to go.

**End Part I**


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: It might be a good idea to re-read the end of last chapter..._

_Last chapter: Georgiana decides against eavesdropping on the Fitzwilliams' conversation, and instead walks with Colonel Fitzwilliam, talking of assorted rattling skeletons and her new sister. A most seriously displeased Lord Ancaster takes his son back home, but not before Milton apologises to Elizabeth via Darcy. Miss Martin leaves shortly thereafter, and the Darcys go back to something like 'normal.' Then, after Georgiana catches a glimpse of Darcy telling Elizabeth something and Elizabeth flinging herself at him and kissing him, her brother and sister tell her that they are expecting a child. The news passes around, the Fitzwilliams mellow, and shortly thereafter, the Pemberley family receives news that the Gardiners have a daughter and Jane is expecting. Elizabeth is so eager to see her sister and her new goddaughter that they decide to go to London a month earlier than planned._

**Part II -- Interlude**

_**'As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three particulars . . . A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a very frequent ignorance of grammar.'  
**  
_— Henry Tilney, _Northanger Abbey_

**Chapter One**

**Letter 1: Cecilia Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy**

_Rosings, Kent_

Dear Georgiana,

I am delighted to hear that you are coming to town. Perhaps, if I am very persuasive, I shall be able to see you — but I doubt it. I have been foisted off on Lady Catherine, and she still flies into a fury at the slightest mention of the name 'Darcy.' I suppose she thinks it all a great affront to her daughter, who does not care sixpence about it, or about anything except her health.

Poor Mrs Jenkinson, and poor me. I know I should be grateful for Lady Catherine's determination to do her duty by me, but must she be so tiresome about it? Almost every day is exactly like the one before, a long round of calls, practising the pianoforte, and being graciously condescended to. Sundays, if you can believe it, are still worse, for we must go and listen to her ladyship's pet clergyman, Mr Collins. I suppose he must be my own age, but he is the sort of man who was old by seventeen. He is quite the most ridiculous person I have ever met — conceited beyond measure, and yet so obsequious, so deferential to us all! Were it not for his poor wife, I should hardly be able to keep from laughing in his face. I know it would be unkind, and vulgar too (nothing, according to Lady Catherine, is quite so vulgar as laughter), but so it is. You will understand, when you meet him.

I understand that your new sister is his cousin? For your sake, I hope there is not the slightest family resemblance. I daresay not. James tells me that she is pretty, well-bred, and very clever — exactly the opposite of Mr Collins, and exactly the sort of girl your brother would marry. For all the family's complaints, I expect they are very happy together, especially now.

Georgiana, I know you must be dreading the prospect of even an abbreviated season, and even with the comfort of your brother and sister. You simply must refuse to take it very seriously, everything is much more enjoyable then. I only wish I were with you; we could visit all the shops, and I would make you laugh at the young men.

I know I do not deserve it, I am such a dilatory correspondent myself, but I beg of you, please write me one of your long newsy letters, I care not how crossed and blotted it is. My sole dependence is on correspondence, I am not even permitted to read novels. There, do I not make a pitiable figure in your imagination? Please say you will write faithfully.

C F

**Letter 2: Georgiana Darcy to Cecilia Fitzwilliam**

_Netherfield, Hertfordshire_

My dear Cecily,

I am so dreadfully sorry to hear that you are unhappy. Lady Catherine must be very strict indeed, and I do pity you, from the bottom of my heart. I promise that I will write as often as I may. Would you like some music? I could send you some, if you would like, and I am sure my uncle would frank it.

At present, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth and I are at Mr Bingley's estate, which is very fine and very ugly, everyone except Mrs Bingley says so. Mrs Bingley, I am sure, has never said or thought an unkind thing in her life. When Mr B first talked of her as a perfect angel, I hardly knew where to look, but it is so. She and E are immensely fond of each other, and of course Mr B is one of my brother's dearest friends.

I have finally met E's family. Her father, Mr Bennet, reminds me a bit of Fitzwilliam, but smiles less and frightens me more. Mrs Bennet means well, I am sure, while the two girls at home, Miss Mary and Miss Catherine, are quite unlike Elizabeth, and each other. The former reads and quotes from a great many improving books, and plays the pianoforte loudly; Miss Catherine is much friendlier and easier to talk to, and I do like her, of course, but I never know what to say when people ask how much the lace on my gown cost. E also has another aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Phillips, her mother's sister and brother-in-law. I think they must be frightened of F, like Mrs Bennet, for they never talk when he is in the room.

When I am not with F&E, I spend most of my time with Mrs Bingley, who often asks me to sit with her. I think that she is a little lonely; though she knows everyone here, she does not seem to be close to anyone except Mr Bingley and E. Her mother comes nearly every day but that is not the same.

You will remember Miss Bingley, Mr Bingley's sister — the one who was always so fond of Fitzwilliam and me? She is here, too, though I am not certain she is happy about it, and as effusive as ever. I do wonder why she insists on taking the second or third volumes of what one of us is reading, though; I cannot help but feel it provoking, and besides, they must make very little sense without the first. She is soon to be leaving, as well, for she is going with the Hursts, her brother and sister, to Bath. Elizabeth would like to see it, but I do not think we are leaving town until June.

I am sure this is all very dull, but that is all there is to talk of. If there is anything else I can do to help, you need only ask.

I remain your affectionate cousin,

Georgiana Darcy

**Letter 3: Cecilia Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy**

_Rosings, Kent_

Georgiana, you are truly a pearl among cousins. Thank you so very much for your letter. I was not bored at all; indeed, receiving it was by far the most interesting thing that has happened to me since I arrived.

Mrs Darcy's people sound rather dreadful, I am afraid, except your Mrs Bingley. No wonder they two are so fond of each other! Then again, I daresay that sort of thing is easier to bear from your own.

As for Miss Bingley — my dear Georgiana, everyone from Scarborough to Dover knows that the ambition of her life is to marry high, and for years that has meant your brother. I never saw a woman more assiduously court a gentleman's attention, and with so little success! I try not to listen to what Lady Catherine says, but in this respect I must agree with her. That sort of behaviour in a lady is more than undignified, it is preposterous, and your brother could not have been less encouraging had he slapped her across the face. I suppose she is sensible enough to realise that her interests are far better served by remaining on civil terms with your sister than by quarrelling with her, though do keep her away from Mrs D's dinner. She might decide to garnish it with arsenic.

You must be in town by now, so I expect to hear all about it in your next letter!

_Adieu, avec toute mon affection,_

Cecily

**Letter 4: Georgiana Darcy to Cecilia Fitzwilliam**

_Darcy House, London_

Dear Cecily,

I am back in the house in town, in my own rooms with my own little establishment. It is all very familiar and comfortable, far more than I expected. My old pianoforte sounds as beautiful as ever, no matter how badly I play. Elizabeth sometimes practises as well, and she is a far greater pleasure to listen to, though nobody would ever say so.

We had our first callers today, but everybody was so eager to see Elizabeth that they hardly glanced at me. It was such a great relief. In her place, I would have been terrified out of my wits, but not she; nothing frightens her. Still, people did talk to me, and several gentlemen stared me quite of countenance; I am glad to sit here in the peace and quiet, with no sounds but the scratching of our pens.

I have grown another two inches, so Fitzwilliam convinced Elizabeth to take me around to some shops, and to buy whatever she liked for herself, as well. She was more prudent than that, of course, and she sent him off to amuse himself, but we both ordered some lovely gowns. We found him surrounded by piles of books, with dust on his face and in his hair. I wish you could have seen the look on Elizabeth's face, Cecily, as if Fitzwilliam reading were the most fascinating thing in the world. It was far more romantic than any declaration. If I may someday find someone who loves me half as much as Elizabeth loves my brother, I shall consider myself very lucky indeed.

Then she laughed at him and brushed the dirt off his face. They are that darling together, though I am sure they would very indignantly deny it. Neither of them are very sentimental, and mostly they just talk, and nobody else can understand above a word in three.

Dear Cecily, I so wish you could come and see us. I am certain that you and Elizabeth would love each other dearly, in some ways she reminds me a great deal of you. If only Lady Catherine were not so recalcitrant! Well, then she would not be herself at all, I daresay. Do tell me if anything diverting happens; I shall hope so for your sake.

G D

**Letter Five: Cecilia Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy**

_Rosings, Kent_

Dearest Georgiana, you must send me your hopes more often! No sooner had I received your letter than we heard of Mr Collins' indisposition. It is nothing too severe — even I would take no pleasure in that — a mere cold, but it has affected his throat to such a degree that, to the sorrow of us all, he can scarcely speak. Fortunately Lady Catherine's hearing is quite acute, or she would miss his whispered compliments.

The consequence of this is that he is no condition to give sermons, and must rely on his curate, Mr Hammond, to do so for him. Mr H is infinitely preferable; he talks sensibly and briefly and gives no compliments. Lady Catherine, of course, is most seriously displeased — though truly, when is she not? She has determined that the curate's deficiencies come from his solitary existence, with no wife, no sister, no patroness to offer much-needed counsel. Yet she is unwilling to suffer the degradation of noticing him herself. About three days ago, she discovered the solution to this most pressing dilemma. As a poor cousin, I am not too high to serve as Lady Catherine's emissary to a mere curate, and yet, with precious Fitzwilliam blood flowing in my veins, still worthy of the office. So I am regularly sent with a servant or two, bearing Lady Catherine's wishes to the curate and therefore the parish, making everyone very happy.

Though the curate is quite handsome, my greatest pleasure is in being outside, away from that stultifying house, from Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh's constant litany of commands, with the sun shining and the wind blowing. I must look a fright, but I do not care. It is so amusing, too; the first time I explained my errand, poor Mr Hammond plainly wanted to laugh but did not dare before Lady Catherine's own cousin. Now we smile every time I come with a new piece of her ladyship's advice — he has a charming smile, and it is such a pleasure to see and talk with someone young and lively and sensible.

Oh dear, I have talked of myself the whole time. You must forgive me, I am only so much happier than I have been. Let me say that you are the best musician of any of us, and Mrs Darcy must be a prodigy indeed if she can surpass you on your own instrument. Your brother and sister sound very darling indeed, and all the more so for not being indelicate about it. I imagine they are frightfully clever and talk about books and philosophy and that sort of thing all day long. I should feel very silly, but you are sensible and I hope as content as is possible for a girl so beautiful that young men cannot help staring. It is a tragedy, but I am certain that you are enduring it with admirable fortitude.

Forgive me my impertinence, Georgiana, I cannot help myself and even my grand cousin cannot cure me of it. If you wish I shall write of nothing more than the weather and extracts from sermons.

C F


End file.
